The Revenge of the Bartowski
by Nervert
Summary: Team Bartowski follows the Traitor down a rabbit hole to take down the Ring while Chuck and Sarah navigate a relationship that exposes their deepest hopes and fears.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So here is the first chapter of my sequel to Chuck vs. The Pacific Northwest. While you could muddle through this story without reading that one first there are a number of call backs and plot points that depend on that story. Don't worry, you'll probably like that one if you like this story.

Some acknowledgements first. Two people who helped early on were **Coreymon77**, who did some early read-throughs and offered good suggestions, and **ne71,** who made some great suggestions on how to reorganize the first several chapters.

A very big thank you goes to **KateMcK** for betaing everything, from the 1st to the most recent chapter, for cracking the whip when I need to get writing, and for general awesomeness. If you didn't know it, she's a great writer and you should check out her stuff (and bug her to write more).

I also want to thank **Aardvark7734** for the shweet cover and for making ebooks out of TPNW and the existing chapters, at the time, of this story.

**WARNING:** More than 90% of this story will be rated teen BUT chapter 3 has some mature elements at the end (not smut, in my opinion, anyway). There's fair warning before that stuff comes up so you can avoid it if you want.

I don't own Chuck, obviously, or any business, or business's product mentioned in the story.

* * *

_3:30 am, Friday, October29th, 2010_

Sarah itched. In fact, that would be a substantial understatement of her problem. Sarah's world was defined by a constellation of itches: the gnawing pinpoint where her hairline met her forehead, the cruel drip of perspiration between her shoulder blades, the prickly crawling over her backside, and worst of all, the flaming-serpent underwire of her bra.

She was inching her way across a crawlspace she'd raced through only a few hours before in the opposite direction. She had been half way through her return trip when the motion sensors she'd previously deactivated had become active once again. Now she could only move a few millimeters each second and all she could think of was tearing off her clothes and digging with furious intent at her traitorous nerve endings. She tried her calm breathing protocol.

_Relax, Walker. You're not here. You're taking a walk at the edge of the tide on La Jolla shores. The water's warm and … oh fuck the beach! God it itches! _

She stopped her movement, clenching her jaw until the moment passed.

_Shaw better hope, for his sake, this wasn't how he was planning to get rid of me. I will cut him just for insulting my skills alone. I don't give a damn what Beckman says._

Though there was some pride in the thought, it was mostly bravado to counteract her creeping paranoia, a constant reality of working with the traitor. She and Shaw had planned this mission based on the special agent's intel alone, which came from a source he wouldn't reveal. It was absolutely not how she liked to do business, going into a critical situation using unconfirmed intel, and worse, unconfirmed intel from a man who's game plan they still didn't know. Her team had spent months of secretly investigating him but had little to show for it other than a few wild goose chases. The suspense was beginning to eat at the three of them, as they knew, when Shaw made his move, they would all become liabilities to him. She'd spent a lifetime watching her back, knowing her life could change or end in an instant, but this time she had more than just her life to lose.

Despite the danger, Beckman had been adamant in her coded messages that they continue to work with the traitor to expose the Ring, even while investigating him. For that reason this mission had to go off without a hitch. Failure was not an option. In four days The Elders of the Ring would be meeting in the adjacent offices and Sarah needed to put surveillance in place with no trace of her passing. The bugs would evade an extensive sweep by the Ring's security, but if they knew she had infiltrated the location of the meeting it would be moved or cancelled altogether. Then team Bartowski would be back to square one.

_Why couldn't this go the way we planned it? _

It had started out with a fairly simple replacement op:

7:30pm, Wednesday, October 27th, 2010

Shaw had met Clarissa Marsberg at her favorite afterwork watering hole. Clarissa was a tall, raven-haired project manager who worked for Sherridan Holdings, a shady investment company with the offices of its research division on the same floor of the same building where the Ring meeting would take place. With a handsome smile and robotically affected charm that Sarah found sickeningly familiar, Shaw had worked his way into Clarissa's bed, and more importantly, piece by piece, gotten her to disclose the security protocol for entering Sherridan's building. The next morning Shaw had convinced Clarissa to call in sick and stay with him — an easy sell, since the rest of her division was at a three-day team building retreat in the Cuyamacas. That call had been intercepted at Castle where Chuck recorded and quickly isolated her voice saying her own name. At the same time, Shaw had cloned the memory of her RFID badge, sending it to Chuck to decrypt.

9:15am, Thursday, October 28th, 2010

Sarah, wearing a black wig, latex facial applications, and make-up — looking as close an approximation of Clarissa as they could manage — had walked right in to Sherridan's building amidst the late rush, the cloned card getting her past the security turnstile. She'd accessed Sherridan's 10th floor offices using the cloned card again in combination with the recording of Clarissa's voice, and glided calmly through the empty research division, entering Clarissa's office without so much as a query.

4:59pm, Thursday afternoon

Casey, looking like a shark in charcoal, silver tie, and Revos, had walked up to the security turnstile downstairs and stopped just as his cell phone rang. He'd taken the call, standing aside as a crush of people began exiting and "accidentally" clipped one with his elbow. While apologizing, he'd swiped another clone of Clarissa's badge across the reader, thus signing her out for the day and leaving Sarah upstairs, free to stay all night.

9:16pm, Thursday evening

Shaw's intel had said that at exactly 16 minutes after nine the security cameras and motion detectors on Sherridan's floor would shut down to allow the guards to check for spoofed signals and video loops. Sarah had quickly entered the crawl space, hoping the intel was correct, and made splices to the video and motion detector feeds, connecting them to an adapter hooked up to her laptop. From there, a program Chuck had developed would either pass through the actual feeds or send a looped signal, depending on Sarah's needs. Apparently it had worked since, when the cameras had powered back up she'd seen no alarms, silent or otherwise.

She had then been free to crawl over to the ceiling above the conference room where the Ring would be meeting and installed the listening devices, and most importantly, the fiber optic cameras which would capture the faces of the Elders. Shaw's intel had turned out to be perfect, as the devices, which had been fashioned to replace the framing for the ceiling panels, exactly replicated the color and consistency of the original pieces. Except for her poor choice in clothing, everything had gone like clockwork, just the way Sarah liked it. But then, while she was crawling back to her entry point, the motion detectors had gone through an internal reset that Shaw's intel hadn't predicted and Chuck's program hadn't known what to do with. Now here she was, inching, itching, and losing her mind.

She slowly brought her head up to gauge her progress and saw that the laptop's keyboard was nearly within her reach. Slowly, she stretched the length of her body, her index and middle fingers poised above the control and Q keys, the toggle for the motion detectors.

_So close … come on … a little more … I got this …_

With no warning, the sweat-slicked palm of her other hand supporting her upper half slipped on the conduit beneath. She fell forward, her right foot kicking the support for one of the motion detectors.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Smacking her head against the conduit in frustration, she began recalling her exit protocol, continuing a stream of hissed profanity from between bared teeth. She looked at the screen to see if her exit was clear and was brought up short. It indicated that no alarms had been set off and that the background signal loop for the motion detectors was activated. She was safe. With a relieved laugh, she realized her fingers, hovering above the toggle keys, had come down on them just as she slipped, cutting off the signal from the detectors.

The writhing, flailing seizure took her instantly, as she attempted to scratch all of her itches at the same time. She stopped a moment, panting, looking to see that she was still safe, then furiously resumed, resembling several angry wolverines tussling in a black spandex body suit. Finally, rolling onto her back, she regained her composure, thankful for the moment that she was alone. She had a disciplined image to protect, after all.

She brought her watch around in front of her face and sighed at the backlit numbers. She had planned her exit from the building to be timed with the lunch rush so she would attract less attention from the guards at the front desk. It was now 3:40 am. A line from the old Snickers commercial came to mind as she contemplated the next nine hours of sitting in Clarissa's office, waiting.

_I really hope Chuck put solitaire on the laptop._

She had been somewhat insulted at how hard Chuck had laughed when she'd made that request. He had suggested several alternatives but she was adamant that it be solitaire. She didn't need the brittle tension that Chuck's zombie splatter games could bring on and couldn't afford to become engrossed in a strategy game like chess. And besides, what was wrong with solitaire?

_Focus, Walker. You're not back in the office yet._

Minutes later she had buried the splices among the other wires in the conduit and was back on the floor of Sherridan's offices by way of the access panel in the ceiling, spooling out her connection to the splices as she went. Making her way towards Clarissa's office, she let herself imagine how good it would feel to peel off her itchy clothes. At some point during her creeping trip through the crawlspace she had made a vow never to use an underwire on an op ever again, regardless of what kind of top she needed to wear for cover.

Nearly twenty feet from the office, a sound caught her attention. It wasn't that the barely discernible beep from the door at the end of the room held any particular menace but something about it reminded her of …

_Key card lock! Shit!_

She dove under a table and behind three stacks of boxed printer paper, yanking the cables connecting her to the video and motion detector feeds from their quick release tabs and through the cracked open access panel. It slammed shut from its own weight and the cables snaked under the table just as the door opened and a guard stepped into the room. Sarah held her breath, tensing for a fight she didn't want.

"Got me, Mike?" The guard paused, listening. His walkie-talkie grumbled with static, then …

"We gotcha. Don't know what that flicker was but we can see you. Wave with your left hand … yep, we gotcha."

Sarah relaxed and quietly let out her held breath.

"Alright, I'm gonna make a quick walkthrough. I'll be down in a few."

"Take your time, we'll keep Marie's pie company till you get back."

"Hey, you fucking vultures better leave some of that for me."

"What do you think we are? Cretins?"

"As a matter of fact …"

"Heh, heh. You damn well know we are. Alright, don't worry; we won't cut into it till you get back, just hurry the hell up."

"Copy that."

_Yes, for the love of god, listen to Mike and hurry the hell up._

The guard holstered his walkie and began a slow ambling survey of the cubicles, checking the offices as he passed them. Sarah controlled her breathing, hoping that she had been as thorough as she always was in silencing all of her gear. Several minutes into his circuit he made his way to the table Sarah was hiding under causing her to become as small and as silent as she could manage.

She watched his legs as they stopped parallel with the boxes she was hiding behind. She gripped her tranq pistol as knees turn towards her. She held her breath, waiting 10 … 20 … 30 seconds before she slowly let it out wondering if he had silently called for back up. Then the sound of a turning page eased her fighting readiness.

_Reading? Seriously? There's pie waiting downstairs and you're reading about ... what ... market research?_

Several minutes later he had given up on his perusal, finished his walkthrough, and was headed back towards the exit when his walkie barked again.

"Hey, Sean."

"Yeah, go ahead."

"You're gonna love this. You're gonna have to wait on coming down for pie. We got a crew down here that need to be up in that office to re-carpet some spots that have water damage. I'm bringing them up but we'll both need to keep an eye on them."

_Fuck!_

"Fuck!"

"Copy that. Tell you what. I'll bring half the pie up too."

"You're a peach, Mike."

"Bite me. I'll be up in a minute."

_The entire department is on a retreat all week and you choose _now_ to do this? It's four o'clock in the damn morning!_

Sarah's mind flipped through a few images of Mike and the carpeting crew falling to their death in the elevator or being pulled apart by rabid hyenas but then calmed herself with several deep breaths, preparing to settle in for the next several hours.

_Shaw and his debrief can wait. There's a two-hour bath and maybe a Chuck massage — _definitely_ a Chuck massage — waiting for me when this disaster is over. _

And disaster it was, since she was not to leave her hiding place for quite some time. Several times the crew had to head back to the warehouse for items they "forgot", always leaving someone behind, working to keep them on the clock. And of course, because it annoyed her to no end, she was not surprised when the idle guards and eventually the carpet guys struck up a conversation about sports, first basketball then football.

_Why? Every damn stakeout … every surveillance job. Do they even realize how inane they sound? I swear to god it would be worth it to blow this whole thing and tranq them all._

Finally after five and a half painfully cramped hours, it appeared to her that the crew was wrapping up its work. She let herself relax, thinking about the fairly simple pleasure of stretching out her body, taking the awful clothes off, and eventually the long soak that awaited her back at her room. The fact that she and Chuck shouldn't be together, that it went against both Shaw's and Beckman's plans, made the thought of it that much sweeter. She could almost smell the floral fragrance of the bath oil she would use, the one that made Chuck bury his face in her neck. The warm water and pillowy suds would soothe all those aches and wash away all the itchy salt from her perspiration, and Chuck's hands would melt the knots in her shoulders, and later she would sing to him as they floated out to sea, borne by gentle currents on their tiny island of suds, naked in the sun … so bright, that sun. _Wait … it's supposed to be early morning?_

_Shit!_

Sarah's eyes flew open.

_Walker, what the hell were you thinking? _

Narrow, stark yellow parallelograms of sunlit carpet told her she had dozed until mid-day. Her watch confirmed that it was now fifteen minutes after noon. There was no time to wonder if the guards had reset the motion detectors when they left. She rolled out from under the table, her knees and back screaming, and crawled towards Clarissa's office. Keeping the cubicle dividers between her and the two, no longer looped, security cameras, she hoped for the best.

_Good job, Walker. Now you're just praying for good outcomes. Maybe some day you can run a whole op on hopes and good intentions._

Drawing parallel with the door to the office she realized she wouldn't be able to make it inside without being caught in her black tactical body suit by one of the cameras. She could only depend on the likelihood that no one was watching the feed at that exact moment and lunged, snapping into a quick body roll through the open door. Once inside, she closed the door and changed into her "work clothes", then hastily applied the latex, makeup, and wig. Taking a deep breath and shaking off the previous night, she strutted out of Sherridan's offices. Back straight and chin up, she reset the motion detectors as she left.

The sight of the crowd in the elevator told her she had gauged the lunch rush correctly. As she entered, she let the hair from her wig fall forward to obscure her face. At the lobby, looking through the glass of the front windows to the light pole outside, she saw the red and black striped concert ad that was her team's signal. It indicated Casey had repeated his trick at the turnstile, checking her in for that morning. Swiping herself out, she strode past security and then out of the building without a second look from either of the guards.

As they had planned, she walked two blocks north and then waited mid-block for her ride to come get her. The black Prelude with tinted windows pulled up a minute later and she slid into the passenger seat, the sight of Chuck's face sending a rush of endorphins through her system.

"How'd it go?"

"Everything's in place and ready for Monday … but never mind that. We are going straight back to my room, taking an hour-long bath and then making love till I fall asleep for the next two days. Shaw and his debrief can kiss my ass."

As she spoke she removed the hateful underwire from under her blouse in four viciously efficient moves and tossed it towards the back seat.

"Uh … Sarah …"

Looking at Chuck, she saw horror plainly evident on his face. He indicated with his eyes toward the rear of the car. As she turned to follow his gaze only her years of training prevented the profanity in her mind from reaching her lips. The diminutive figure of Diane Beckman swiping the satiny bra from her face, a laser-like intense anger emanating from every pore, was a vision that Sarah's memory would never erase for the rest of her life.

* * *

**A/N:** Uh-oh. Only thing scarier than an angry Beckman is angry Beckman with lasers ... or a missile launcher.


	2. Chapter 2

_How am I getting myself out of this one?_

The normally inaudible whirring of air handlers was almost deafening in the generic, sterile conference room. Sarah stared at her laced fingers resting on the table in front of her, forcing them to quietness, unwilling to betray her fear; she had yet to look across the table and take in the level of trouble she was in. Petite might have described Beckman's stature, small and not physically intimidating, but that in no way described her persona or the power she wielded. Sarah was certain of her feelings for Chuck and the direction she wanted her life to take but it was entirely another thing to sit in front of this woman and declare it outright.

_Why doesn't she say anything? _

The General had been sitting across from her, completely silent for what felt like ten minutes.

_Come on, Walker. You know this game._ _She's trying to intimidate you with the silent treatment. That's what I would do. Let a person's own guilt work on them. Screw that!_

Sarah's head snapped up, defiance barely concealed behind the serenity of her "game face", but she was completely unprepared for what she saw beneath Beckman's default glare. Sympathy. It was an emotion that seemed to Sarah to be so out of context on the General's face that she rejected it outright.

_She's playing an angle here: the unfamiliar location, countering my expectations, all of it. She's trying to keep me off balance. Why would she do that if she already knows about us unless ... unless she's looking for confirmation. Maybe she doesn't know as much as I think she does. Maybe I can still get us out of this._

"I'm sorry you had to hear what you heard in the car back there." Sarah scanned the other woman for an indication of her receptiveness, but got nothing. "Chuck and I have become really comfortable around each other so our jokes may seem too familiar, maybe unprofessional, but I assure …"

"Oh for god sake, Walker! Don't insult me. I wouldn't have even _been_ in the back of that car if there wasn't anything going on between you two."

"Whatever Chuck told you, I think you might be misinterpreting …"

"Agent Walker, enough! Chuck didn't have to admit to a thing … though he said plenty without knowing it while we waited for you. He needs more training to know when he's being interrogated."

"Please, don't make a decision based on incomplete information. Just hear me out …"

"Hear you out? While I believe it is in the best interest of the CIA to keep relationships within The Company, that does not mean you should have sex with all the men you work with, particularly when it could jeopardize the investigation of a man like Shaw! "

Beckman had done her homework; she'd gone right for one of Sarah's insecurities. Despite her normal control Sarah could feel the heat build in her face. She watched Beckman slowly shake her head, the tightly wound twist of hair seeming to add its own disapproval.

"This is not the profession for a young woman who needs to seek validation in the attention of men." More head shaking. "Walker … Sarah …"

_Like hell! I am _not_ one of those women! And since when does she call me Sarah? Oh here it comes. She's only bringing this maternal crap out for a reason._

"… you know SOG is still a boys club. You may have had a chance once because of your skills and maybe because of Graham's interference …" Sarah could see Beckman watching for a reaction so she remained stone-faced. "… but you'll never get another chance if you're still playing out your daddy issues."

"That's not what this is!" Sarah shot out of her chair so quickly that it fell over, adding to her fury. She saw Beckman appraising her with a critical eye.

_Damn it! You knew it was coming and you still fell for it._

"Well then, Agent Walker, why don't you enlighten me as to what, exactly, is going on between you two."

Sarah felt completely humiliated, first, for not having any kind of retort, and second, for having to pick up her chair before she sat back down. She was defeated, easily exposing her defensiveness. She had the distinct impression that Beckman already knew what was going on in her heart and was manipulating her for some end she couldn't see.

_Nothing left but to defend the truth._

"I love him."

"That's a start. A little candor is nice. What else? Does he love you?"

"Yes."

"Well then, everything's just perfect, isn't it? Two kids in love … what could possibly be wrong with that?" Beckman's slow drawl dripped with irony.

"I know what it puts in jeopardy, we both do, but Chuck and I are a good team. We're both better when we're with each other …"

"You're undisciplined, love struck idiots when you're with each other."

"With all due respect, General, we've been extremely careful. You wouldn't believe …"

"_Careful_?" Beckman's voice exploded out of her tiny frame. "That's why I got _your damn bra in my face_, because you were being careful? That's why Casey knows exactly what's going on between you two? _That's _how you're careful?"

The General's face had gone red, her lips pursing. Sarah realized, again, she had no defense and brought her eyes back to her hands on the table. She heard Beckman take a slow, calming breath and her voice was controlled once again.

"You've been scraping for months to get what little we have on Shaw and each of us, including me, are taking a great personal risk working with him while trying to take down his network. You know how diligent he's been with his isolation strategy for Chuck and yet you flaunt it, letting him see his sister and the little bearded idiot. Now this? If Shaw tries to recruit him, that may be our _only_ way to get inside, and you want to jeopardize it all because you two, an intelligence officer and another in training, can't act like adults and use a little self discipline?"

Sarah knew she should shut up, be contrite, listen to the lecture, and consider herself lucky if she didn't get reassigned, but Beckman's condescending tone brought out her rebellious side. "Maybe it's time to change our strategy."

Beckman turned a dour eye on Sarah but this quickly morphed into something catlike, sly. "I'm listening, explain."

_What? You're listening? Oh shit! What did I just do? _

The idea had started a month before as one of those thoughts Sarah had in the shower. It began as more of a daydream than a plot but her mind had held on to it tenaciously, feeding it every night in the quiet before sleep. As she explained, she found herself both excited and anxious, the plan uncharacteristic of the careful, methodical Sarah Walker that she had been before falling for Chuck.

_You better hope you know what you're doing, Walker._

* * *

Sometimes there just weren't words to describe the seething hatred he had for his job. Chuck was staring at a pile of work orders with nearing deadlines that were his responsibility, Lester and Jeff having finished the actual working part of their day two hours after clocking in. He could try making their useless corpses do some work, but at the moment a conversation with the both of them would result in the CIA having to cover up a double homicide and he was in enough trouble already.

Actually, the trouble he was in didn't bother him. It was the fact that Sarah was in an undisclosed location, being chewed out by Beckman, possibly to be shipped off to Siberia, which was eating through the lining of his stomach. And the sea of virus infected hard drives, dust choked chassis, improperly installed heat-sinks, and driver updates that he had to pretend to care about was a hair atop the fifty pound weight resting on the bomb trigger.

Chuck looked at the clock on his phone for the fourth time in fifteen minutes, unhappy to see that it was only three minutes later than the last time he'd checked. He wanted to be down in Castle where he could at least take some swings at the heavy bag, but Casey had booted him. Shaw would want to ask him where Sarah was, so he could debrief her, and Chuck was more likely to tear his head off than tell a believable lie.

He looked up to see Morgan heading towards the Nerd Herd desk and got his hopes up for a little distraction, but Morgan veered off after they made eye contact, still not having forgiven him for an earlier Call of Duty faux pas. Chuck's head fell onto the desk with a thunk.

_Oww. That actually hurt … though it's good distraction. I wonder how many times I can I can hit my head on this desk before my shift is over … or before I lose consciousness. Where's a tranq pistol when you need one? _

"Bad day, huh?"

_Sarah?_

Chuck shot up in his seat, not believing his ears, but there she was, smiling, in a change of clothes, hair pulled back and looking like she'd spent some time on it.

"Sarah … I … how …"

She lowered her voice for Chuck's ears only. "Just thought I'd stop by before going downstairs for the debrief."

"Oh … right … that." Chuck sank towards his chair just a little. "So is _everything_ alright?"

"Don't worry, Chuck. Everything's fine."

"Really?"

"Yup."

Sarah had a rare impish grin on her face which mystified Chuck, but he was so relieved he didn't second guess it.

"Hey, I'm sorry about the motion detector thing, I really should have anticipated …"

"Not at all, Chuck. Your program worked great." Sarah went back to her normal voice. "You worry too much. You know what you need? To blow off some steam. You need to have some fun."

"Well Morgan will barely talk to me because of a video game thing, so I don't think that's happening."

"Who said anything about Morgan? You've got other friends, don't you?" As she said it she brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, touching her thumb to her middle finger briefly before letting her hand fall back to her side. At nearly any other angle it looked like a natural gesture, one Sarah made several times a day, but Chuck knew it for one of her signals, "follow my lead".

"Okay, I'll bite. Who'd you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of someone who has impeccable taste in Sushi and Thai cuisine, loves to go dancing, is about five foot nine, fair haired, sparkling personality … sound familiar?"

"Hmmm, not ringing any bells, no." Chuck's voice was dry but his face quickly broke into a grin.

"You _better_ smile. You know I can kick your ass." She leaned toward him, resting her elbows on the desk and rocking up on her toes, never breaking eye contact.

_Holy shit, we're totally flirting here. And Shaw must be able to hear all of it over the bugs. Whatever she's doing it's friggin' great!_

"Mmmm, Sarah, I don't think you kicking my ass would be all that unpleasant."

Sarah looked up at him through her lashes. "We can see about that later. But first, what do you think about dinner tonight? We could call it a celebration for a job half done. Just you and me."

_Okay, this just became awesome._

"I think I could say my day just went from Star Trek V to The Wrath of Khan."

"Wrath of Khan is the good one?"

"The best one!"

"Okay, good. So I'll pick you up at seven?"

"You're picking me up?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"I was just thinking, we might get a little more respect taking the Nerd Herder instead of your crappy Porsche … no offense."

"Smart ass! Just be ready at seven and wear something nice."

Sarah favored him with a wide, almost giddy smile and Chuck felt the lights in his world brighten for just a moment. Before he could say more, she turned to go, still smiling, and headed back out the store, hips swaying with a rhythm that wiped every last thought from his head. Over the last four months they had been forced to hide every trace of their relationship but in two minutes Sarah had turned all of that on its ear.

In his thunderstruck state, Chuck was completely unaware of the three pairs of eyes which had been watching the exchange.

"What does he do to make them keep coming back? It isn't fair. He doesn't have anything I don't have."

"To be honest, Lester, he has everything you don't have. Chuck's a great guy and some women can see it."

"Great guy? Morgan, Morgan, Morgan. No wonder Anna dumped you. Women don't want a 'great guy'. They want someone to define them … to tell them what they want."

"Wow, Lester. You … you should write a book. You could call it one-hundred-and-one ways to stay a virgin for the rest of your life."

"Whatever. There's got to be some secret to Chuck's success. Maybe it's pheromones …"

Jeff's slurred monotone cut in. "Nope. I've been collecting his sweat from the towel he keeps in his locker and rubbing it on my face before we go to Bennigan's. Women still slap me before I get to 'hello'."

Morgan chose, for mental health reasons, to pretend that Jeff hadn't spoken at all. Lester brought his palm to his forehead with an audible smack.

"Jeffrey, how many times do I have to tell you? Pulse points! You put it on your pulse points … not on your face."

Morgan suddenly felt the need to shower and excused himself, heading to the Nerd Herd desk for some refreshing sanity.

"Hey, Chuck."

"Hey, Buddy. Look, I'm sorry about the whole grape soda fake out?"

"When they say 'all's fair in love and war', they don't mean video games. You played with my weakness, man."

"I know. I'm sorry. Never happen again. Can I make it up to you with a meatball sub … with extra onions and mozzerella … and a bag of chips … and a grape soda?"

"It's already forgotten. Chuck Bartowski, you are a gentleman. So … are you and Sarah really getting back together?"

"We're going out on a date so …" Chuck couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Good. You deserve it, man. You've been kind of … off for the last few months. Your body may have been here, but your mind's been somewhere else. It's all because of Sarah, right?"

_And Shaw._ "Yeah, I never let go of her … up here." He tapped his head. _At least I don't have to lie to you about that._

"Well I'm glad you're back. And if you ever go to that dark place again, don't forget who your best friend is. The one that always has your back."

"I know, buddy. And I've got yours too." … _even if it means having to lie to you. Some day, my friend … some day I'll tell you everything._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, here's some pure fluff for you. I've been told I don't have enough fluffy Charah so here's my answer, concentrated in one chapter. It's a bit long with few plot points so, if you are fluff-averse, you can skip to the author's note at the end for a summary.

**WARNING:** The end of this chapter has some **mature rated content** (obviously sexual). I've worked to make it not smutty but I understand that evaluation is subjective. It's pretty obvious when this part is coming up so it should be easy to skip to the ending author's note (though the last paragraph is safe if you want to read it).

Without further ado: The Date

* * *

_That's the tenth time you've done that. Just relax, Bartowski._

He'd just hopped up from the couch and made the circuit to the mirror by the door, checking his reflection to see that nothing had changed since the last time. Sarah had said seven o'clock and it was a minute till. There was no reason for nerves but Morgan's evening out had started an hour before and the quiet emptiness of the apartment was not helping Chuck's pre-date jitters.

_Dude! You know she loves you, right? You guys have had sex already, for god's sake._

The thought sent an electric charge through him. This beautiful, confident, brilliant, thoroughly capable woman loved _him_, Chuck Bartowski, computer repairing, videogame playing, incompetently spying nerd that he was. How did _that_ happen?

The knock made him jump up for the eleventh time, rushing to the door in two steps. Upon opening it, he found all the air in the world suddenly gone. It was her eyes that did it, left him gaping like a landed carp. There was something in them that he'd only seen during unguarded moments or in the back seat of their stakeout rentals, a desire he would do anything to meet and a vulnerability there in letting him see it. He'd certainly hoped for something like it at the end of the date but this caught him entirely by surprise, and even more so the deep, hungry kiss that followed. It wouldn't have been fair to blame him for his mind jumping directly to sex and letting his inner cro-magnon take over. He stepped backward, drawing her through the doorway, the hand on her waist sliding down for a firmer grip. She stopped him before he could close the door, however, planting a high-heeled foot against the jam and breaking the kiss.

She pressed her lips to his ear, whispering, "Sorry, Chuck … not yet. First, we are going out … on a date. We've explored every version of the quickie there is. Now I want a whole night, just the two of us."

Panting slightly, Chuck shook his head to clear it, then shook it again, coughed and whispered back, "What was that kiss for? That was a little bit more than 'nice to see you'."

"Ummm …" The self-conscious expression only made her more adorable. "... preview?"

"Mmmm, I like where this is headed … but what about Shaw?"

"Let's pretend we don't know that name tonight."

"Okay, I _really_ like where this is headed, but Beckman …"

"Chuck! We can forget that name too. Just relax and let's go have some fun."

And like that, Chuck felt like he weighed nothing, letting his face break into a grin. Back in full voice he said, "Done. Worries gone. I'm all yours."

"Perfect."

As they walked to Sarah's Porsche, he couldn't help but drop a step behind, taking in her dress. The red halter was painted over her subtly tanned, well-toned shoulders, dipping to a "V" at the small of her back. Ending in a flare a few inches above the knee, the dress flipped as she walked, matching the playful sparkle he'd seen in her eyes. Something was definitely different tonight, as the light that usually only shone from her in small glimpses was now on full display.

First stop was sushi off Ventura Boulevard in studio city.

"Wow, sweetie, this is really good ... and so convenient. It's right between work and home; I can't believe I've never noticed it.

"So, it gets the Bartowski seal of approval?"

"Yeah, you picked a winner. Though I have to say, I was skeptical, seeing it from the parking lot."

"Chuck, you would doubt _my_ choice when it comes to sushi?"

"Good point. I should know better."

"See, you have to learn to put your trust in your partner's strengths. If I was troubled over the choice of hot pockets, TV dinners, or corndogs, for instance, I would call Casey … and if I needed to know the correct choice and order of placement of meat, cheese, and veggies on slices of bread … well, I'd call you."

This was a high compliment in Chuck's world. "Wow! I'm honored. I might not be a pro like Lou …" He coughed then rushed on, "… but I still feel that the sandwich is my canvas."

"Everyone needs an art."

"Speaking of arts, I've never asked you where you learned to sing." The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He'd been learning to ask her about her past using oblique questions, but of course this strategy ran counter to his direct nature and sometimes he slipped.

To his surprise, she smiled, answering without hesitation. "My dad pushed me to sing a lot when I was younger. He even learned to play the guitar … you know, as accompaniment."

"No kidding? I wish I could have seen that; you must've been totally adorable." Sarah's sardonic expression suggested she thought otherwise. "Still, I really wouldn't have expected that from your dad. I guess everyone's got a soft side somewhere."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "This is my father we're talking about. There was _always_ an angle. No one expected the cute father/daughter pair to rob them blind. People would let go of all sorts of information after seeing me sing some cutesy Shirley Temple crap."

Chuck was aware his grin had fallen and he felt bad for it. Not wanting the return of the guilt Sarah still felt towards her past, he changed the focus to her father. "Should have figured. Your dad didn't let you do anything just for fun, did he?"

"Not if he found it useful. Although he did let me sing in the car. I used to love doing that. I think he got to hear way more Paula Abdul then he ever wanted."

"Ha! Sarah Walker, a Paula Abdul fan?"

"_Seven-year-old_ Sarah was a Paula Abdul fan. And there was Wilson Phillips and New Kids on the Block, too. I never really thought about it but my dad must have been a very patient man." Sarah's eyes softened, and her voice lost its cynical edge. "Sometimes he'd sing with me when he played his favorite music. I really loved some of those bands … like the sound of Janis Joplin's voice. I'd always try but I could never sing the way she did."

"Not enough booze and hard living?"

"That … and I was _seven_."

"And that." He saw a hint of a faraway smile in Sarah's expression and was happy that at least some small part of her childhood could be remembered fondly.

Sarah continued. "I loved Heart, too … the way Ann could belt it. I always wanted her voice. She was girly but sounded like she could kick your ass at the same time."

"Imagine _you_ identifying with that. So, do you still sing in the car?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sarah smiled a coy smile and Chuck fell in love for the tenth time that evening. She glanced down at her watch. "Damn. We're going to be late."

"For what?"

"You'll see."

Even though they'd only had a few pieces of sashimi plus a roll each, Sarah asked for the check. Chuck studied her practiced poker face, trying to guess what she had in store. As he watched, she looked past his shoulder, asking, "Is that Scarlett Johansson?"

Chuck whipped around, looking for but not seeing the actress, then realized too late that the server had returned with the check. He turned back to see Sarah handing the girl a card.

"Pretty underhanded there, Walker."

"I asked you out on a date so I pay."

The next stop turned out to be a Mexican restaurant about two miles down Ventura.

"So … what … we're having a progressive dinner tonight?"

Sarah only raised her eyebrows in response, remaining mysterious.

The sound of Cuban music seeped out of the building and, as they entered, he realized a live band was playing upstairs.

"Damn. They've already started." She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the stairs. "Well, I'll teach you as best as I can. You've done trial by fire before, so I think you can handle it."

"Handle what?"

"Salsa! But without using the … you know … without using help."

Chuck whispered back, "Wait. You don't want me to flash"

"Please Chuck." He heard something plaintive in her voice. "Look, if you don't use … it … then you might truly learn Salsa and still remember how to do it later. It would be nice to have something that was _our_ thing instead of a 'work' thing. Just trust me, Chuck. Have I ever led you wrong?"

Normally if Sarah really wanted something Chuck would have to drag it out of her, but at this moment, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and deep, the desire was written all over her face. Chuck could have denied her nothing. "Okay. Let's do this."

"Really?" Sarah's eyes sparkled.

"Yeah, of course ... but don't have high expectations. I move like an ox."

"Don't worry, Chuck. I'll make you look good."

Her obvious delight that he was going along shamed any last reservation out of him. Obviously, she'd been waiting to go dancing with him for quite some time. Upstairs he used the distraction of Sarah changing into her dancing shoes to pay for the cover — _Ha! Two can play that game_ — then let himself be led to the dance floor, set amid a ring of diners.

On a relatively quiet part of the floor, Sarah took Chuck through the basic steps and turns and he discovered, at its core, Salsa was not a complicated dance.

"I think you've got it, Mr. Bartowski."

"I'm just trying to figure out how I turn this …" he said, nodding towards his feet, "… into that", nodding towards a whirling couple.

"Well, you're not dancing with them, are you?"

Between these words and the way Sarah held his eyes, Chuck decided to disregard his awkwardness, content that the smile hadn't left her face since he'd agreed to dancing. Still, the music's seductive syncopation seeped into him and he soon found he was spinning and struting, matching Sarah's smile with his own. Staring into her eyes, he felt the rhythm take over his reflexes like some auditory Intersect, his hips and legs moving as if they belonged to another body. It was disorienting but exhilarating at the same time.

"I think someone's enjoying themselves."

"Don't jinx it sweetie. It'd be like when Wile E. Coyote runs over the edge of a cliff, then notices he's standing on thin air."

Sarah's laugh came easily. "I love how you can describe just about any situation with a pop culture reference."

"Do I detect a little irony there?"

"Not at all. It's cute."

"I am what I am, raised on cartoons, movies, and video games."

The current song came to a conclusion and Chuck surprised Sarah with a dip and a kiss. As he took in her smile, it occurred to him that, while she seemed to be having a good time, he was probably holding her back, particularly since he wasn't using the Intersect. Maybe it was time to let her show what she could do.

"Sarah, I think I'm going to sit this next one out."

The crease between her eyes appeared as her eyebrows came together.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm really enjoying this. It's just that I've noticed everyone in the room checking you out. Now I want to see what they get to see."

"In other words, you want to gawk."

"Absolutely! Can't your boyfriend gawk at you?"

From the smile on her face, he knew she liked the idea. Within seconds of sitting down Sarah had a request to dance. The guy was a much better dancer than Chuck but Sarah matched him effortlessly, spinning and twisting, her dress showing her toned body to fullest advantage. Still, her eyes constantly met Chuck's no matter where she was on the dance floor. He wondered if it was ingrained instinct from her years of being his bodyguard but then noticed a glow on her face and a light in her eyes that he'd rarely seen. He couldn't put it into words but, while she was still amidst a dance floor of total strangers, she seemed to be sharing with him some intimate secret.

Later, as they walked back to her Porsche, Sarah's dancing shoes dangling from her fingers, Chuck couldn't help but notice the flirty bounce in her step.

"That dress was made for you to dance in. You looked amazing out there … you still look amazing."

"Well thank you. It's nice to be noticed."

"Oh jeez! I didn't say anything when you picked me up, did I?"

"That's okay, Chuck. I might have distracted you at the door." Sarah spun around in front of him and laced her hands behind his neck. "You don't look so bad yourself, you know." She pulled him down for a kiss. After some time she broke it, sighing and looking up at the hazy orange glow that was LA's version of stars. "So this is what it feels like when you get to do what you want. Why the hell was I so intent on denying myself before?"

Chuck was drinking in the alluring nakedness of Sarah's neck and shoulders when he heard himself say something stupid. "Because of Beckman?"

"Beckman who?"

"You know, I have no idea."

"That's what I thought. Mmmmm … Chuck, can tonight not be over yet? Let's do something else that's fun."

Chuck couldn't keep the corners of his lips from turning up. The stern disciplined Sarah was still nowhere to be seen. "Yeah? Okay, I think I've got just the thing in mind."

"Ooo, what is it?"

"You'll see." It was Chuck's turn to be coy.

Next stop was a dive in West Hollywood, just hitting it's stride with the Friday barhopping crowd. As they sat at a table with their drinks, Chuck could tell from Sarah's expression that this wasn't what she had in mind.

"Just wait a few minutes."

"What?"

"I know it doesn't look like much but just wait a little bit."

Just when Chuck thought Sarah's patience had run out, a DJ took to the mic and announced that karaoke had begun. Sarah's bored expression creased and she broke into a broad laugh, pulling Chuck across the table by his shirtfront to kiss her.

"Sneaky, Bartowski."

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"Oh, absolutely, I'm in … but you have to go up there too."

"I kinda figured … though you might reconsider dating me."

"Not a chance, Chuck. Besides, could you be any worse than Lester?"

"If I am, just tell me I was fantastic."

They both chose songs, neither telling the other what they would be singing, then sat and listened, shooting each other grins at the cheesy sincerity of some of the participants.

Finally it was Chuck's turn to take the stage. He hadn't done karaoke since his Stanford days and back then 80s irony had been all the rage. In that spirit he'd looked for the usual suspects, Corey Hart, Rick Astley, Rick Springfield, and then settled on Billy Idol.

Chuck smiled to himself as the music began, thinking that his 'Seattle hair' would have been more appropriate for this. He looked down at Sarah, who was already on the brink of laughter from recognizing the song, and pushed her over the edge with a trademark Billy snarl. The resulting paroxysm of giggles from his blonde partner egged him on. He couldn't help but let a growl of testosterone silliness escape him, launching into 'Rebel Yell'.

As Chuck watched her oscillate between laughter and open-mouthed appreciation, he recognized what she had been silently communicating back on the dance floor at the Salsa club: it was an incredible rush, performing for someone you loved. At that moment he would have done just about anything to keep her entertained. When the song was over she bolted out of her chair, a one person standing ovation.

"Chuck, you were fantastic!"

"Oh god. Was it that bad_?_"

"What …" Sarah paused, then laughed, realizing the miscommunication. "You were far better than Lester, Chuck."

After a quick kiss, they switched places and Chuck cheered loudly when _Barracuda's_ bounding, predatory guitar riff rumbled from the speakers. He knew then that he'd read correctly the wistfulness he'd heard in Sarah's voice at dinner. She opened up the first verse with a strong voice, a little more Joni Mitchell than Ann Wilson, but it turned heads. Her confidence grew with the high notes in the chorus and she began to strut across the stage, a repressed part of her past opening inside out in front of him. It struck him then, how easily Sarah had slipped into the roles she played during missions and he realized something about her he'd missed from the very beginning. Sarah was a performer at heart.

When the song was over and Sarah descended the stage amid more than a little raucous cheering, her beaming expression melted Chuck's heart into a puddle. No doubt about it, this night had been good for her. Her lips told him the same when they found his and he had to fight down a bout of hubris from the envy brewing about the room.

Sarah pressed her lips to his ear and whispered over the noise in the bar. "I think that's enough fun out on the town tonight."

Chuck felt a stab of disappointment, not wanting the night to end, that is, until he met her eyes, hungry and deep, her cheeks flushed, her lower lip tucking itself between her teeth.

"Um ... Morgan's at poker night."

"Then why are we still standing here?"

Chuck practically threw several bills at the table for the drinks they had barely touched, as he raced after Sarah. In the parking lot she fumbled with the keys to the Porsche in her haste, quietly swearing at them, and he couldn't quite suppress his snicker at the very un-Sarah moment. The ride back to his apartment was one of the longest he could remember, despite Sarah's driving, every red light hell bent on prolonging their abstinence. Finally, after she found a parking spot on the street, he led her by the hand to his door, not wanting to lose contact for a moment, his thoughts a blur.

_House empty. Good. Mmmmm, kissing, _very_ good. Did you just bite me? Damn, never seen you like this. Bedroom, quickly! Lock door … Morgan boundary issues. Time for that dress to go. My god you're stunning! That really never gets old. Come on, come on, stupid buttons! Wow … okay that works too. Can always buy a new shirt. On my back? Okay, I can do that. God I love you Sar … son of a bitch! Fucking Shaw!_

On his back, Chuck couldn't keep his eyes from going to the light on the ceiling over his bed and the fastener that held it in place … or more accurately, the tiny camera inside the fastener. He had no doubt Shaw or one of his minions had been the one to put it there about two months previously, and since then it had stared at him every night in his sleep. He'd begun to think of it as 'The Eye of Sauron'.

_Who cares, Bartowski. You're with the girl you love, and seriously … look at her … she's gorgeous._

But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get his mind back where it needed to be. Sarah leaned down and nibbled his ear, whispering, "You okay, Chuck?"

He buried his face in her hair answering as quietly as he could. "It's the camera over the bed. Shaw's watching us."

Sarah brought Chuck's face in front of hers and held his eyes for a moment, searching. Then she smiled and pulled him over to sit at the edge of the bed. Straddling him, she went back to nibbling his ear and whispering.

"You know, I think Shaw thought he had a chance for something serious with me … he'd be wrong of course but I'm sure he thought it. Now, the best he can do is watch like some sad degenerate while you're the one in bed with me … making love to me. He has to know that you won, Chuck. He's got to see with his own eyes that I'm all yours …"

Chuck knew that wasn't exactly the way of things — there hadn't actually been a fight over her, and besides, Shaw's sights were set on different conquests — but he also knew Sarah wasn't speaking to his rational side. She was speaking to his inner caveman and his inner caveman was eating it up. One could have looked at it as manipulation, but that wasn't how Chuck saw it. Sarah loved him and was saying exactly what he needed to hear right at that moment. Between her words and the teasing way her breasts brushed against his chest, Shaw was being pushed further and further into irrelevancy. Then Sarah slid to the floor and did something which blotted Shaw out for good.

_Oh my! Sarah, this – oh wow – is new._

Chuck looked down to see her kneeling in front of him, blazing blue eyes holding his fast. _You know me so well, Sarah, and you're far too good to me. Better than I could ever deserve. Do you know I would do anything for you? Oh god, anything! Wait ... too close. Not yet, sweetie._

Without a word, he gently pushed her away, and before her confusion could become hurt, he scooped her off the floor and dumped her on the bed in front of him. Her open-mouthed shock at the rough treatment turned to smug recognition as he hovered over her, grinning. Chuck pinned her to the bed with his hands, shoulders and hips, lips clamped on hers. The way she hungrily accepted his kiss, he nearly lost command of himself, but he knew she wanted him to stay in charge and he remained disciplined. As his lips explored her impossibly soft skin, he felt his mind slip into what he thought of as his "Sarah Intersect". In the past few months, during their intense, too-short explorations of each other, Chuck had begun to memorize every inch of Sarah's body. In his mind, each delicious contour was coupled with a sigh, shiver, moan, writhe, or thrust elicited by his touch. Of course, every encounter was a little different than the last, so this intersect was more Sarah worship than 'how to' manual.

Chuck took his time, looking up across her contours to watch the exquisite distress in her expression, drinking in the way her body vibrated. When he could tell she was close, her movements no longer her own, he felt his anticipation matching hers. Soon she would shudder, upper body rhythmically lifting and falling against the bed, mouth opened in a voiceless cry. He wondered if her silence wasn't some internalized discipline of her occupation — stealth orgasms for a stealthy spy — but this time she found her voice. As the earthquake rippled through her, her lips parted, and a surprised, blissed-out cry erupted from her throat.

Chuck had never seen her so unrestrained, in bed or out of it, and he lost the last vestiges of his control. He moved up until he was face to face and pulled her body to his, hesitating only briefly for her assent. Her eyes flicked open, seeming almost surprised at his intensity, then crinkling in amusement. Her tiny nod was all the invitation he needed.

It was over far too fast. He lay on Sarah's chest, listening to her heart settling itself back into a sedate rhythm, only mildly annoyed that he hadn't taken the time to savor their lovemaking. Tonight there would be time to try again. Sarah had worked some magic on Beckman and the transmitter hidden inside of him was no longer his master. Chuck couldn't remember being happier, except …

"Sarah." He pushed himself up until he was looking into her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to ruin the moment or anything, I know we need the cuddle time, but …" He paused.

"Go on, Chuck."

"I'm kinda hungry right now and …"

Sarah's laughter cut him off. "Oh my god, I'm glad I'm not the only one. I'm starving. A few pieces of fish don't hold up well to Salsa. Oooo!" Sarah drew in a deep breath, eyes big, lips broadening into a pleading smile.

"What is it?"

"Can you make me a sandwich?"

Chuck corrected himself. Now he was happier than he'd ever been.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Sarah was lying next to her man, listening as his breathing fell into the rhythm of sleep. She was wrapped in the lean, warm length of him, his arm casually draped over her side, her breast completely enveloped by his hand. Sleep was pulling her down into its depths as well, but she fought it, not wanting the night to end.

They had exhausted each other, making up for time lost, neither easily sated. She smiled, thinking how easy it had been to get him back into the bedroom. He'd been rinsing off the dishes in the sink when she'd begun stretching against the counter, bending at the waist, letting that work shirt of his ride up over her naked bottom. The look on his face alone had been worth it, but the love making that followed ...

She breathed out a long, contented sigh.

Afterwards they'd lain in bed, giggling at Chuck's eyebrow dance. She'd made him show her how he raised each eyebrow independently and then had attempted the feat herself. She had winked, twitched, curled her lip into a snarl, and done everything but. This, of course, had brought Chuck to tears with laughter and her attempts to shut him up had only resulted in another tumble in the blankets. She had kept her eyes open this time, seeing the frenzy her climax drove him to, then marveling at his expression, the moment of his own release inside her, a mix of impatient virility, transparent adoration, and complete faith in her love.

_So this is what it's like to be completely lost in love. God, no wonder they warned us about it at The Farm. If anything ever happened to him …_

She burrowed deeper into Chuck's protective warmth, hearing him wake briefly, mumble, then drift back to sleep. She knew morning would eventually come, bringing danger and unpredictability, but that was their life.

_Our life … _

The words resonated through her drifting mind, her thoughts untethering in the dissolution that came with sleep. She found herself waiting in front of the familiar wood panels as she had earlier that evening, breathing the aroma of that fountain courtyard, intertwined with so many emotional conversations past. It was remarkable how much anticipation could fill a moment before something as mundane as the opening of a door, the instant expanding with the memories of the dark eyes and incandescent smile waiting on the other side. Just like it had at the beginning of the night, that door would open and set deep currents in motion, flowing around her, through her, aligning on a simple truth she felt as a warm glow in her chest.

_I'm home. This is where I belong._

* * *

A/N: For those that had to skip, the interesting bits alluded to in this chapter are:

1) Chuck's apartment is bugged and there's at least one hidden camera which Chuck is aware of (over his bed). Chuck suspects Shaw. No, as bad as Shaw is, he's not a perv. He's got a very good (though not benign) reason to want a camera there.

2) Sarah realizes that Mr. Bartowski gives her the first feeling of "home" she's ever felt but even so she feels she's still waiting on the doorstep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I know a few of you might read through this chapter wondering, "Okay, when's the story gonna get going?" I promise I have good stuff in store.

* * *

_I can't believe Morgan's nose hasn't led him out of bed yet._

Chuck had two skillets working, one fluffing up scrambled eggs and the other, finally at the right temperature, making picture-perfect pancakes. Chuck was not one for spending time in the kitchen, especially since both his sister and Morgan had far more culinary aptitude, but he did know his way around breakfast.

"Whatcha makin' us, buddy?" A bearded scraggly face appeared on the other side of the counter.

_There's the man._ "Pancakes, eggs, and bacon … for three."

"Good, 'cause I could eat for two at the moment."

"You might want to ask Sarah before you eat her breakfast too."

"Why would Sarah … oh … dude! Way to go buddy!" Morgan held his fist out, awaiting a bump.

"Let's not set the frat boy tone this morning."

"Right, gotcha. Sarah's a classy girl. So, I guess the date went well?"

"Very."

"Does this mean you guys are back together? Actually, before you answer that …" Morgan gave Chuck a questing look.

Chuck nodded in the direction of the pot of coffee he'd brewed earlier. Morgan grabbed an oversized mug, filled it half way with coffee, then topped it off with a Red Bull from the fridge.

"That _can't_ be good for you … and yes, we're back together … for good, I hope." Chuck lowered his voice. "I don't want to push her or anything … I'm definitely taking it slow and careful, but … she's the one, man. I'm not letting her get away."

"That is so fantastically awesome. You have no idea how good the timing is."

"Why …"

"I met a girl."

"Okay, _that_ gets a fist bump. So, what's her name? Where'd you meet her? Wait, I thought you were at poker last night."

"Chuck, a man gets to a point where he has to dispense with childish things."

_Wow, this girl must be something special._

"No, Skip and I went to see his friend's band …"

"Wait, you hung out with Skip … Johnson?"

"Yeah, Skip's pretty cool, man. He knows the LA music scene pretty well. He's played guitar in a bunch of bands … knows just about everyone."

Chuck attempted to reconcile this with his conception of the nerdy blonde Q-tip.

"So, anyway, we sit down at a table with some of his friends and I start talking with this girl, Fabrice. She's really cute, serious guns … I mean her arms not her … well those were nice too. But she had these amazing tattoos on her arms. I mean she was just ..." Morgan went to another place for a moment then returned. "And this is the point where I always screw up. I turn into a freak … start saying stupid things. But I was just … normal."

"What do I always tell you? Always be yourself."

"Yeah, no kidding. We just talked video games, TV, music … it was like talking to you except I actually wanted to see her naked."

"Well put. So did you two … you know …"

"Let's not set the frat boy tone, shall we?"

"Touché."

"So get this, dude. She's a roller girl! She plays roller derby. You know, with the skates … knocking girls down and stuff. She showed me this huge bruise on her thigh like she was proud of it. She's totally badass."

"Hmmm, sounds like someone else I know."

"The best part is, she likes me. We talked the whole night and she didn't run away."

"And why would she? You've got the beard, vast knowledge of 80s movies, cooking skills, Call of Duty skills, fine taste in cheap Asian cuisine and a deep appreciation of classic science fiction."

"A regular Latin lothario."

"Exactly. So, you going to see her again soon?"

"I invited her to the Halloween party tonight. You think Ellie would mind if I brought a plus one?"

"Are you kidding? And this'll be great. Sarah and I can meet her there."

"Hey, does Ellie know you two are back together?"

Chuck's mouth dropped open and he froze, pancake precariously holding onto spatula.

"You didn't tell her yet, did you?"

"Crap! She's going to kill me. I haven't had the time. Sarah just came up to me yesterday out of the blue and that was that."

"That's kinda weird … Really? Out of no where?"

"Hey, you saw it yourself."

"Don't get me wrong, Chuck, I think Sarah's great, but I always get the feeling there's a lot more going on behind those icy blue eyes than she lets on."

_Buddy you have no idea. Why did she do that anyway? No attempt to hide it from Shaw or anything. She's made herself even more of a target for him. I hope she knows what she's doing._

* * *

With quiet intensity and impassive gaze, the big man scanned the near constant stream of meat for the profile of his target. His trained senses detected subtle details in posture, gait, and dress that gave his quarry away. He was a predator living in a world of prey. Day in, day out he watched them trudge through their prey lives, herded into their business-park pens, fattening, never looking over their shoulders for those like him that hunted in their midst. Most had little to fear from him; he took only the high value assignments, letting lesser talents take care of the rest. Abruptly, his eyes narrowed on one of those assignments, and, target acquired, he readied himself for the kill.

"Whale!"

"What?"

"A whale … a big spender." John Casey rolled his eyes at Sarah. "Walker, how much time have you spent around here making googly-eyes with Bartowski and you still don't know what a whale is?"

"I know what a whale is. I just didn't think you took your cover so seriously."

"This is retail, Walker! No one lets a whale escape the Buy More alive … or at least they wouldn't if they weren't so busy sniffing each others' butts to see that one just walked in the store." Casey favored his coworkers with a look of revulsion. "In the marines we learned to lead by example. If the receipt for this one isn't at least $3000 dollars, I don't deserve this name tag."

_Did he just lick his lips?_

Sarah stared in awe as John Casey stalked off towards the big screens, a predatory leer on his face. Much more pleasing was the somewhat narrower figure headed towards her, bringing a warm flush to her cheeks.

"Hey, beautiful. Casey have anything interesting to say?"

"Depends on what you consider interesting. Casey's a really odd guy."

"Ya' think? The man's only loves are guns and a small plant. We should re-name him Leon."

"Leon?"

"_The Professional? _Never mind, we'll add it to the list."

"Ah, movie reference. Should have figured."

"So … did you find your breakfast?"

Sarah knew from the change in his voice that this wasn't the question he was really asking. "Yup. Though it was more like brunch by the time I had it. It survived the microwave pretty well too." She paused knowing she couldn't put off the next part of the conversation any longer. "Sorry it took me forever to get out of bed. I had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Did anyone miss me this morning?"

"Oh, you mean the Sarah Walker who is on time to everything and never misses a meeting? Nothing odd about her not showing up. Nothing at all."

"That bad?"

"Actually it was bizarre, like no one noticed you weren't there … in the several-ton-wolly-mammoth-in-the-room-that-no-one-wants-to-talk-about sort of way."

Sarah lowered her voice to a whisper. "I kind of expected that from Beckman and Casey … but Shaw too?"

Chuck nodded.

"Hmmm. I _really_ wasn't expecting that."

Chuck lowered his own voice. "Wait, did you plan to miss the meeting?"

"Yes. Sorry. I didn't know you were going to make breakfast and everything; I probably should have told you. We're trying to push Shaw to make a move … contact some members of his team. Between our date last night and me not showing up this morning things may finally not be fitting into his plans. Maybe now he'll have to make some adjustments. We have taps for every SIM card he has but he hasn't used them to call anyone; all we need is one call to start working on."

Chuck went rigid, his demeanor changing instantly. "Wait, last night's date was part of a plan?"

"Whoa, Chuck, last night was for us. I didn't …

Sarah stopped as the diminutive figure of Lester Patel slithered up to the Nerd Herd desk.

"Well, well. What do we have here? Sounds like a herd of snakes hissing at each other."

The sibilance of Lester's 'S's were like fingernails on a chalkboard in Sarah's ears. She clenched her jaw, holding back a response the civilized world would consider excessive, then wondering if she'd have to do the same with Chuck. He held himself in control, however, speaking with only a trace of annoyance.

"A herd of snakes? Really? Lester, I don't think snakes come in herds."

"How do you know, Charles? Are you a … herpetologist?" He said the word with a flourish that seemed to accentuate the first syllable.

"While I'm impressed that you know what a herpetologist is, I don't …"

"I saw a herpetologist for a rash once." Looking vacant and bug-eyed, Jeff had just hovered up behind Lester. Sarah never failed to be impressed with how quickly his non-sequiturs could suck the sanity out of a room.

Chuck lost his patience then. "Jeff, herpetology has nothing to do with STDs! Don't either of you have anything better to do? Actually, never mind; I know the answer to that. Look, Sarah and I are trying to have a discussion, so go play in traffic or something."

Lester affected an air of self-righteousness. "I see. Your private conversation has higher priority than actual work. Must be nice to be roomies with the AssMan. Come on Jeffery. The beautiful people need to have their "talk"; there's no room for working men such as ourselves. Have no worry, my friend, my people are experienced with exile."

Sarah thought Chuck's patience with the Wonder Twins might end and was glad to see the two leave before anything happened. The muscles in Chuck's jaw were bulging and his fists were clenched. Strangely it reminded her of his intensity the night before, his skin flushing, sweat on his brow from the rhythmic exertion …

_Whoa, Walker! Stay in the moment_._ You have to fix this._

"Chuck, aren't you the Nerd Herd supervisor? Can't you just fire them or something?"

Chuck lowered his voice again.

"If I got Big Mike to fire them then I'd have another problem. He might hire competent Nerd Herders."

"Good point. I don't see those two ever figuring out what goes on here. Inventing crazy conspiracy theories maybe but …"

Chuck's hissed whisper cut her off. "Hey, no changing the subject! You _used_ me last night for one of your plans … just like … just like a mark!"

"No! Oh Chuck, no ,no, no. It wasn't like that at all." Sarah felt a panicked frustration, seeing that things were going badly very quickly but not sure how to defend herself. She opened her mouth and words came out in a whispered rush. "Look, Beckman was ready to do something drastic yesterday, maybe reassign me. I had to do something. There was no way I was going to let her take you away from me. So … I suggested a new strategy. Yes, it did involve last night's date, but I did it that way for us. We needed last night and I wouldn't have traded it for anything. That was honestly one of the best nights I've ever had. Maybe you think I need to get out more but …"

"No, Sarah. Last night really was perfect. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so quick to freak out but … why couldn't you tell me about the plan yesterday? Why can't you just trust me enough to tell me what's going on in your head?"

_Oh, Chuck. I don't know if you're ready for that. I don't know if _I'm_ ready for that. Not with the places my mind went at the end of last night. I don't want to scare you off … _

"I would have told you about the plan before but … well … if you weren't thinking about Shaw, then I wasn't thinking about him either, so last night could just be about us. Plus, it was kinda fun asking you out and flirting with you."

"And I suppose it didn't hurt that you got to take the pressure off of me with Shaw's isolation strategy and direct all the risk solely on you."

_Damn. He doesn't miss much anymore._ "Chuck, you know I function a lot better knowing you're safe."

"And you don't think it's the same for me? Don't get me wrong; you're amazing, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. That time in Seattle was way too close."

"I know. I need to respect you have the same worries that I do now, but don't forget that we have all Shaw's communications tapped. If he calls the hit on me we'll know it right when it happens."

"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better. This is Shaw we're talking about. I doubt we have all of his communications."

"Hey Chuck, how about a little respect for me? I'm not some easy target you know. I've dodged more hits than Fidel Castro." Sarah gave her most charming smile, looking up at him through her lashes and a spill of blonde wisps.

This brought a genuine smile to Chuck's face and Sarah felt a return of some of the warmth from the night before. His response was missing his earlier iciness.

"Don't try using your Jedi mind tricks on me."

"Oooo, a Star Trek reference."

Chuck's eyes flared open, horrified, but then quickly narrowed.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you? Well you're not going to derail me. You told me, not too long ago, that we're a team and we do everything together. This includes sharing the danger."

"Okay, okay. But I didn't do this just to take the heat off of you."

"It didn't hurt, though, did it?"

"I'm not going to lie; I do like it better this way."

"That's my Sarah, always wanting to be in control of things."

'_My Sarah' … Do you know how much I like to hear that … or that I think of you as 'my Chuck'?_ "Well it's too late to change anything now … but isn't there some little way I could make you feel better about it?" She gave Chuck a look that did not suggest an innocent interpretation.

"You're just pulling out all your charms, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

"Maybe … but just tell me you aren't going to keep making big decisions without me."

"I promise you. I really mean it when I say that what I love most about us is that we make a good team."

"Me too." Chuck began to lean in for a kiss before his eyes were diverted, looking past her.

She turned to see Casey approaching with a victorious look that would have been perfectly at home on the face of a wolf, hovering over its kill.

"Take out a terrorist with your bare hands, Casey?"

Casey ignored this and slapped a sales receipt down on the counter in front of Sarah.

"$4500. Read 'em and weep."

"Wow, John. If you keep up the good work, you might get that employee of the month plaque yet."

"Hmph, at least one of us takes their cover seriously … I mean … the actual work part."

Sarah's eyes narrowed at this last comment and the leer that came with it. _A little jealous, old man?_ "Nice, Casey. Anyway, I have a chewing out to sit through downstairs so you boys play nice together. Chuck, don't forget the meeting in Castle before the Halloween party. I'm picking up sandwiches so both of you let me know what you want before five."

"You getting one for Shaw too?"

"Oh, of course." She gave a devilish smile. Shaw's would come with extra mayo, just the way he hated it. For some reason, the sandwich shop never seemed to get his order right. She turned to go, giving her hips an extra sway as she walked away, knowing where Chuck's eyes would be.

Casey watched as the love-sick moron checked out Walker's caboose, several thoughts running through his head at once. As was his habit, he distilled these down to a single grunt.

"You know Casey, you may not be aware of this but Homo Sapiens long ago developed the ability to communicate using symbolic vocalizations, or "words", which were able to convey complex ideas and …"

Casey walked away before Chuck could finish his sarcastic little rant. He headed back to the stockroom to pick up the items for his whale, hoping the finish to the kill would put his mind at ease.

_Damn moron doesn't even know what he's done to Walker. Shaw, or one of his goons, is going to be coming for her any day now and the idiot's gone and muddied up her head with lady-feelings. As usual we'll just leave it to me to keep everyone from getting dead._

* * *

**A/N:** Let me know what you think._  
_


	5. Chapter 5

"Bartowski! Slow down."

Casey was trying to catch up with Chuck in the parking lot, both heading towards the Orange Orange for their evening meeting in Castle. It was much easier using the OO entrance than the one from the Buy More locker room now that Big Mike had gotten the security cameras repaired … again.

Chuck stopped and turned. "What's up, your grumpiness?"

Casey came to within a step, speaking in the low growl that was his version of a whisper. "Grumpy? This isn't grumpy. This is me fucking ecstatic. A few more idiotic comments like that and you'll get to see grumpy."

"Okay, sorry. Yeesh. What do you want?"

"Noticed anything out of the ordinary about Walker lately?"

"Um ... yeah, Casey, she's happy. That happens to people from time to time. It's an incurable affliction but most people live through …"

"Can the sarcasm, moron, you're not even good at it. She's been distracted and reckless lately and you know why."

"Casey, relax. I know why you're upset. Listen, we'll keep the relationship stuff and the PDA out of your face. You won't even notice a difference."

"Of course I won't notice a difference. I knew you two were playing hide-the-asset months ago. That's not what I'm talking about."

_Oh crap! If he's known for months …_

"The problem is Walker. She's been losing her edge since you two have been doin' it."

"Doin' it? Really?" Chuck rolled his eyes. "How can you think she's losing her edge? Did you even get the debrief from Thursday's mission?"

"I'm talking about more than one operation, numbnuts. Like this thing with you two outing yourselves. What do you think's gonna come out of this? Maybe this helps her turn over one or two of Shaw's wet guys when they come for her ... or maybe she gets dead. Maybe Shaw , for whatever it is he's got planned, just decides that trying to recruit you isn't worth it any more and he offs you with the rest of us. She didn't think it through."

"Beckman didn't seem to have problem with it."

"Idiot! If Beckman gets Shaw and the Ring, she's not that worried what happens to us. Even you."

"Beckman? I doubt she would just let us get …"

"Damn it! If you even knew half of what …" Casey paused, his jaw clenching. "Just know this, Beckman has a different way of looking at loyalty." Casey grunted and turned away, stomping towards the OO as if he were angry at the ground.

_What's that about? You could run a city on what that guy has pent up._

Descending the stairs into Castle's conference room, Chuck saw Sarah and Shaw already at the room's central table, Casey just sitting down. Sarah was nibbling at the edge of her sandwich the way she did when she was deep in thought, though her empty hand was poised behind her ear, thumb to middle finger where only someone descending the stairs could see it.

_Crap! Follow your lead … again … with Shaw in the room? What did we say about teamwork earlier? _

Keeping his composure, Chuck grabbed his Rueben and sat down, noticing that Shaw was putting a pastrami on rye back together, having removed several tablespoons of mayonnaise. A familiar chime announced the diminutive one.

"Good, you're all here. Let's get started."

As usual Beckman jumped right to business a half second after the connection was made. They were discussing the possible roles the team might take in bringing the Ring down, once the devices Sarah planted had exposed the Ring Elders. Chuck had known it would not be as simple as cutting the head off the beast but he realized, as the discussion went on, exactly how naïve he'd been about the complexity of the task. It gave him second thoughts about how quickly they would be able to bring down Shaw's organization.

Chuck did his best to stay in the discussion but his attention kept getting pulled back to the blue rectangle of Beckman's monitor reflected in a new, framed picture behind her desk. His eyes kept locking on the slightly blurred image of he and the three other agents sitting at the table. It almost felt like he was about to flash but the flash never came. He squinted, trying to see more detail in the reflected image, but was then distracted as Sarah stood up and walked to the front of the table, still speaking to Beckman.

"Are we going to get those kind of resources or do we need to start recruiting assets?"

_Oh jeez, she's moving. Something's about to go down. What do you want me to do, Sarah?_

Completely catching Chuck off guard, Beckman shouted from the monitor. "Agent Walker, Do I have to put it all together for you? Be a damned professional!"

Chuck looked at the others in the room and saw that Casey and Shaw were as shocked as he was at the outburst, staring at the tiny woman in confusion. What came next was even more unexpected. Beckman's office was replaced by a bright flash followed by a blinking blur of images which left Chuck dazed. From the corner of his eye he saw Sarah lunging at Shaw, faster than he'd ever seen a human being move, bringing her hand to the side of his neck with a slap. Shaw slumped in his chair, a dot of blood on his neck, and Sarah struggled to prevent him from falling to the floor.

"Help me!" Sarah shouted directly at Chuck and Casey.

"What the hell, Walker!" Casey was obviously as confused as Chuck.

Beckman's voice rang out. "Casey! Bartowski! Listen to Walker, we'll explain later."

"Both of you, help me get him up on the table. Don't let him bump his head or do anything that'll leave a bruise."

Casey grabbed the big man's shoulders and Chuck took his feet, heaving him up on the table.

"Careful! Casey … vitals. Chuck, hold his head to the side. Casey, how's he doing?"

"Pulse is slow but strong."

"Good. Chuck, you got him?"

"Yeah. What …"

"Just keep his head from banging on the table. We need to turn him over."

Chuck cradled Shaw's head, slowly turning it as Sarah and Casey rolled him to a prone position. Then Sarah sprinted to the lab and returned with an intimidatingly large injector. She carefully untucked Shaw's shirt, rolled it up to his shoulders, and placed the head of the injector just next to his shoulder blade. She pulled one of two triggers and a needle emerged, piercing the skin of his back. She then lined the injector up carefully with the shoulder blade and pulled a second trigger. A second needle punched into his skin shooting something underneath. She withdrew the injector, set it down, and blotted two tiny spots of blood with gauze.

"Casey, pulse."

"Picking up. He'll be out of it soon."

"Okay, we need to hurry."

She rolled the shirt back down, taking care to tuck it back in completely.

"Get him back into the chair. Don't let him fall!"

Sarah sprinted back towards the lab while Chuck and Casey rolled the big agent over and eased him off the table, Casey taking the majority of the burden. They settled him back into the chair as Sarah returned.

"Sit back where you were. Try to be as close to the same positions you were in before I knocked him out."

Sarah brushed a tiny crust of blood from the spot on Shaw's neck, straightened him in his chair, holding him so he didn't fall.

"Are you ready, Walker?" Chuck had almost forgotten that Beckman was still online.

"Yes. On my mark."

Sarah broke a capsule under Shaw's nose, waited until he sputtered, then raced back to the spot she had been standing in before all the action.

"Go!"

The monitor flashed again, as it had before, then showed another string of images and Chuck saw Shaw sit up rigidly in his chair. As Beckman returned to the screen, Sarah modulated her voice perfectly back to wounded pride, responding to the small redhead's previous outburst.

"I'll get it figured out, General, I just wanted to know ahead of time what we'll have to work with."

Shaw spoke up then, his voice only a little uneven. "Don't worry, Dianne. I'll make sure we won't have any problems getting up to speed when the assignments go out."

_Holy crap! He has no idea what just happened. _

"That's what I want to hear, Shaw. Any requisitions? Take care of them now because it's going to be chaos after the Ring's meeting on Monday. Don't bother me with authorizations. This is top priority, so if you need it, get it. Just make sure you need it. If that's all, then we're done here." Beckman didn't wait for an answer before breaking the connection.

Chuck's heart was racing and he could tell he wasn't hiding the look of shock on his face. There was no way he could stay in Castle with Shaw; he would give something away, without a doubt. "Well, I've got a party to get to. I'm off." Not waiting for a response he raced to the stairs and leapt up them, two at a time.

Shaw's cool emotionless voice froze Chuck in his tracks. "Chuck, you heard Beckman. We have planning to do. Your party can wait."

_Crap, crap! I'm going to freak out. I _am_ freaking out! He's going to know something's wrong._

"Daniel, Chuck has no logistics training. I don't think there's any point to keeping him here. Besides, Morgan will be expecting him at the party and knows that he's already left work."

_Thank you, Sarah._

Before Shaw could disagree, Chuck opened the door to the freezer and left. He held his composure until he'd exited the OO, then let a stream of whispered profanity escape his lips. As he crossed the parking lot he felt his phone vibrate. The text was from Sarah.

DANIEL FEELING ORNRY

_What the hell does that … oh. 'D' 'F' 'O' … don't freak out. Two messages in one. You're a true gem, sweetie. Still, it's a little easier not to freak out if I knew what that the hell just happened! What did we just do, anyway?_

As he walked, Chuck felt the adrenaline begin to recede and he tried to get some perspective on the situation.

_Just this afternoon we talked about being a team and here she is improvising again. Not telling my anything. Or Casey, for that matter. Though isn't that how it's always been? Things come up, there's no time to explain, and we just have to be flexible. God, what is making me so freaked out?_

He tried reflecting on this question. He'd been in dire situations before, sometimes seconds from death, but his level of anxiety down in Castle just now had been worse than when he'd first gotten the Intersect. Back then, though, his fear had been moderated by the apathy he felt towards his own life. Now …

_It's Sarah. It's because of her … because of the last few months and last night … and Seattle. I wonder if it's as bad for her too. What Casey said in the parking lot … he might be right. Although, what does he think I'm gonna do? Stop seeing her? That's not gonna happen … and it wouldn't help anything anyway. I guess I just have to try and not make it any worse. No talking about the future. No, "You're the one for me". She's probably not ready for that yet anyway. Just do like we always do. Enjoy the little chances we get and don't expect anything more … not until Shaw's taken care of._

Resolved, Chuck shook off some of his worries and hopped into the herder. By the time he pulled into a space near his apartment, he was actually in the mood for a party; luckily festivities were in full swing as he entered the courtyard. Morgan quickly spotted Chuck through the throng of partygoers.

"Dude, where've you been? You left work the same time I did."

"Sorry. Had to pick up some glitter. Sarah and I are going as Edward and Bella."

Morgan's face froze in a mix of horror and disgust then slowly melted into a disbelieving grin. "You fucker."

"Shoulda seen the look on your face. Almost as bad as when I told you I traded the Tron poster for Nickleback tickets."

"Such a jackass. Just for that you have to be the tail this year. So where's your lady friend?"

"She'll be here soon. What about yours? Actually before that, where's the keg? I need to self medicate a little."

Five minutes later, with the help of a red Solo cup of what he guessed was an IPA, Chuck had pushed the earlier part of the evening to the back of his mind and was getting to know Morgan's new girl. Fabrice turned out to be far different than Chuck had expected. She was built less like the tree trunk he was imagining and more like Anna had been, though with, as Morgan had put it, serious guns, and legs that appeared to be capable of kicking a hole through an armored truck.

_Don't piss her off, buddy._

Still, she was very sweet, almost demure, and Chuck had trouble imagining her knocking girls down on the track. He had to ask. "So what got you into Roller Derby?"

"Morgan said you two have lived here your whole lives, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've driven on the freeways?"

_Ah! Good answer._ Chuck found himself asking more questions about her interests, especially the geekier ones. The conversation flowed from saving throws to the Millenium Falcon, 4Chan to Bioshock, and Chuck soon realized he was quietly interrogating her, verifying her geek credentials.

_Man, Sarah's really rubbing off on me._

The thought made him smile and it occurred to him that it'd been a while since he'd left Sarah down in Castle. Now, with a little liquid courage in him, surrounded by the mundane comfort of a courtyard of partygoers, the guilt began to creep up on him that he'd abandoned his team. And with his conscience activated, something else occurred to him.

"Hey, you guys mind if I go find Ellie."

"Still haven't told her, yet? Dude!" Morgan shook his head.

"I know. I know. I'm still good, though … if I talk to her before Sarah gets here."

"Uh-huh." Morgan continued shaking his head.

Chuck scanned the party, found Ellie loitering near the door to her and Awesome's apartment, and began weaving his way across the courtyard, his coordination a casualty of the previous cup of beer. He hadn't made it far when an unexpected sight made him forget his destination.

"Sarah?"

She was wearing a costume, no doubt about that, but it took his sluggish brain several moments to grasp what it was. It appeared that someone had taken an Osterizer to a black, down vest, a Bodyglove shortie, and one of Sarah's night ops body suits and sewed the remaining pieces together in segments. This was then topped with a dun colored, hooded cloak, thrown back over her shoulders and held at her breastbone by a metal clasp. Her expression was expectant, nervous uncertainty and she watched him for a reaction.

"Oh, I almost forgot." She turned around and appeared to be putting contacts in her eyes while looking into a small compact. She faced Chuck again and the whites of her eyes were now an indigo blue. She spoke in a breathy voice. "Tell me of the waters of your home world, Usul."

Chuck's heart nearly stopped, then made a high jump over the moon. "You insane, wonderful, beautiful woman!" He could hardly contain himself. He wrapped his arms around her narrow frame, pulled her to him and let his lips tell her the rest of his thoughts.

When his slightly altered mind recognized he was probably making a scene he stepped back to take another look. "Did you make this yourself?"

Pride was bursting behind Sarah's calm smile. "A little bit at a time over the last two months. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to hide it from you in my little room."

_Screw slow and steady. This is the girl I'm marrying and I'm not letting her get away. God! I can't believe it. Sarah … always cool, confident, perfect … made herself one of the geekiest costumes here just to impress me._

Sarah pulled him tight for another embrace, then whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry about earlier. I would have filled you and Casey in but I didn't have the time. I had to use the injector so I could get it back before anyone noticed it was missing. Beckman had me steal it to avoid a chain of custody trail."

"What was it for?"

"I injected a tracker into Shaw. The same kind he had put into you. Virtually untraceable."

"I wasn't aware I could love you more but I think I do."

"I thought you'd appreciate that."

"So what was with all the flashy lights and stuff?"

"In combination with the tranq I used it creates a retroactive amnesia. Pretty hard to break through. With the local I gave him in his back I doubt Shaw will ever realize it happened, at least not before we're finished with him."

"God I like the way you talk. 'Finished with him' … those three words alone are going to make me sleep well tonight."

Chuck was overcome again and went for another kiss. He hadn't thought anything could match the euphoria he'd felt the night before but he was at least close. Nothing could bring him down … until he heard the clearing of a very familiar throat behind him.

_Ellie!_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Okay, finally, one small clue about the mystery of Shaw's organization ... and then back to interpersonal stuff. I promise, mystery and intrigue is coming ... really.

* * *

Chuck dodged knots of drunken revelers, feeling the need to find his apartment's bathroom … again. Possibly the bed too. He was happy Ellie had let him keep his place off limits to partygoers because he wasn't above crawling into his cave for the night while it was still early. Especially since Shai Hulud had already made its appearance and it seemed his girlfriend was lost to him for the evening.

The confrontation with his sister hadn't happened at all the way he'd expected. There had been a shared eye roll between her and Sarah before they'd launched into a conversation that quickly excluded him. Morgan and Fabrice had briefly interrupted to make introductions and pay respects to Sarah's costume, otherwise the two women had been inseparable. He looked over to where he'd last seen them at the courtyard entrance and saw they were still chattering away. They both turned his way briefly then erupted into a storm of cackles, leaning on each other for support.

_Alright, that's it. I'm going to bed. You two enjoy the evening._

Chuck stalked towards the apartment, his bed, a tall glass of water, and the bathroom calling to him simultaneously. He did a mini celebration in his head when the front door key found the lock on the first try but was surprised to feel that the door was already unlocked.

_What the hell! Morgan?  
_

The man in the Guy Fawkes mask standing in the living room, appeared as startled at Chuck's entry as Chuck was of him.

"Whoa! Um … wrong turn buddy. This apartment's off limits tonight."

The man nodded and was quickly headed for the door when Chuck's brain got around to putting two and two together. He stepped into the man's path, hand outstretched, a flash already flooding his head with tactical suggestions.

"Sorry, that was rude. I don't think we've met. I'm Chuck."

It occurred to him, as he took the man's hand, that the Intersect probably couldn't compensate for alcohol's effect on his brain. This was confirmed when the world suddenly rocked sideways and his body met the floor. He staggered, trying to get up, but was knocked sprawling by a blow to his head. As he dropped to the ground, consciousness fading, his fingers curled around the glove he'd swiped off his attacker, currently slipping out the door. The Intersect had been useful at least in one respect. He'd seen an unusual fenestrated scar on the man's palm and the flashing images told him that it was a burn from a superheated defense screen, protecting a microchip that the intruder's team, code named Taproot, had been sent to steal. Taproot was a CIA operation but all the names of those involved were unknown to the Intersect … except for one: Evelyn Shaw.

* * *

_Ellie's poisoning, Sarah's concussion, my ankle taken out by malicious window …_

Chuck was attempting to recall the number of times he'd visited a hospital since getting sucked into his new profession but the dull ache in his head was making it difficult. In fact, trying to remember the last few hours was not an easy task. He knew Sarah had found him on the floor and she'd told him he couldn't have been out for very long. She'd made up a story about him being drunk and falling and hitting his head to keep his sister from asking questions. He slightly remembered Ellie freaking out and sending him to the ER for an examination and a CT scan. Now he was propped up in his own bed next to Sarah, attempting to keep himself awake.

"Chuck, sweetie, your eyes are drooping again."

"God, this is killing me. The scan was all clear. Ellie's just being paranoid keeping me awake."

"I know but I trust your sister's judgment. She _is_ a doctor. Besides, it's a good thing to have someone that worries about you."

"I have an embarrassment of riches in that department." Chuck saw Sarah's fiery look and quickly interjected, "Not that I'm complaining … at all."

"Better not be."

"Can we just talk about something to keep me awake? All I want to do is fall asleep and I'm not allowed."

"Has anything come back to you about your attacker?"

"Nope. Couldn't see a thing. He was covered, head to foot."

Chuck was speaking for the benefit of Shaw's bugs. He'd told Sarah all about his attacker while they were still at the hospital and they had both agreed the best plan was to keep Shaw in the dark. Neither of them could work out the arithmetic as to what this little wrinkle meant, and the booming subwoofer currently embedded in Chuck's occipital lobe wasn't helping.

"God, I can't even imagine what this hangover's going to feel like tomorrow with the concussion sitting on top of it."

Sarah ran a hand through his curls. "Here, drink some more water."

"I don't think it'll make a difference. I was drinking like I was still in college tonight. I really shouldn't do that anymore."

"Getting up there in years, old man?" There was laughing sarcasm in her tone.

"Hey, you're gonna get there before I do." Sarah's smile was a little too quick and and her eyes registered little of it. "Oh, hey. You know I'm just screwing around; you're pretty far from old." She didn't respond. "Come on, sweetie, what's the matter?"

"Nothing. Really, I'm fine." The stiffness in her expression was gone and the smile was more genuine but Chuck knew what he'd seen. He quirked an eyebrow at her, then the other, then waggled both. "Fine ... I'm turning thirty on Monday."

Chuck nodded sagely, having barely processed what she'd said. Then the significance filtered through. "Wait … your actual birthday? Did you just tell me your actual birthday?"

"You're a swift one."

"Sarah Walker … born November 1st 1980. You know how long I've been waiting to find that out? I wish I'd known earlier. I could have planned something …"

"No! We'll celebrate it in June like always. That's when everyone else thinks my birthday is, so that's when it is."

"Okay, okay. So …" He searched for Sarah's gaze but she wouldn't look up. "… thirtieth birthday really gotcha down? I just don't see it? You're indestructible and absolutely, stunningly gorgeous. Yeah, roll your eyes, but you totally are. I mean, there isn't a twenty-year-old out there who has anything on you."

"I don't know about that."

"Well I do. Come on, you. What did you think, looking at yourself in the mirror and wearing that dress last night? You were thinking, 'Gotdamn I'm fine' … weren't you?"

Sarah rolled her eyes again, the corners of her lips fighting to turn up. "Yes, those exact words."

"See!" He wasn't sure if his good humor was infectious or annoying but he continued anyway. "Besides, thirty is the new twenty. Isn't that what they say?"

"Hmmm. That _is_ what they say, but … there's some things that are changing Chuck. There are wrinkles that weren't there before ..."

"Sure, if you pull out your microscope."

"... and there are other things."

"Like?"

"Things you don't have to worry about because you're a guy."

"Uh-huh ... I think you're quite a ways away from menopause sweetie so ... oh ... ha ha ... that's not at all what you were talking about, was it? Ha, yeah. Sweetie, I think we've already established that I'm an idiot, please don't hurt me. So, what is it you're worried about? Wait ... are you talking about having babies?"

Sarah made a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh. "Not _having_ babies, just the _option_ of having them, you know, since I'm still biologically able ... for now."

"For now? Um, you realize you're only turning thirty, not forty. Tons of women are having babies in their thirties. My sister wants to have kids and she's older than you … and a doctor, so …"

"I know, just … things start to become more difficult after thirty-five, which isn't as far away as it used to be and …" She suddenly didn't appear to want to go on.

"And?"

"Can we just talk about something else?"

"What? You're just going to leave me hanging? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on. What's so awful you can't tell your boyfriend?"

"God!"

"Sorry, sorry. I'm being annoying again. It's just ... _I_ worry when _you're_ worried about stuff, but it's like pulling teeth to get you to tell me what's up. I love you, okay, I can't help it."

The tension melted out of her shoulders. "I know you do. I love you too." She looked up, just short of meeting his eyes and breathed a resigned sigh. "My mom died giving birth to me and I'm worried it might be genetic." It came out a flat string of syllables.

Chuck was suddenly quiet enough he could hear his heart beating in his ears. "Sarah … I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry. I'm not scarred from it or anything. It happened a long time ago ... and I literally never knew her so it's hard to miss her."

"Yeah, but still … you never had a mom?"

"Really, I think what happened to you was a lot worse."

"Oh, I doubt it. Ah jeez, you never mentioned your mom; I should have figured it out. Why do I always ask you so many questions? Now I feel like an asshole."

"You just can't help it, Chuck."

"Being an asshole?"

"No, you dork …"

"Nerd."

"Sorry … nerd. What I meant was, you can't help asking me questions. And that's a good thing, Chuck. I know I'm going to regret saying this but … I really wouldn't change that about you ... as much as it drives me crazy sometimes. When I'm alone, trying to sleep, it makes me feel better knowing that you'd want to know what I got for my 14th birthday or who my celebrity crush is."

"You have a celebrity crush?"

"No … but if I did you'd want to know. I've never had anyone who was that interested. Not even Bryce. It's great but ... it's just not something I'm used to."

"I know. You've said it before, 'take it slow'. Sorry that I get impatient. I'm a Bartoswki."

"Yes you are."

"Hey, You think _I'm_ bad. You should have seen Ellie when I'd come home from school. 'Where's your homework? Did you talk to any girls? What did you learn about? Who gave you that bruise?'"

"Scary."

"Yeah, it was. Especially for an adolescent boy. But it was good too. I needed someone to worry about me."

"So you see where I'm at then."

"Yeah ... I do. But do you see where _I'm_ at? I just feel like, if I don't push, I'll never find out anything about you." Chuck fidgeted with the cuff of his pajama pants, trying to act nonchalant and failing. "I mean … for instance … it's not like you'd just tell _me_ your real name out of the blue."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah sit up, ramrod straight. He couldn't meet her eyes but could tell she was searching his face. Then she seemed to relax and as she spoke, her voice was soft, almost maternal. "Chuck … how long has that been bothering you?"

"I don't know. You know, never mind. It's not really that big a deal."

"Well that's a total lie. You brought it up so I know it's a big deal. It was stupid of me not to say anything before. I'm taking care of this right now."

"No it's fine I'm just …"

"Quit being an idiot and listen!"

"Okay." He gave his best chastised face and stole a laugh out of her before she turned solemn again.

"Chuck, I was feeling really lost right then. I had a lot of worries about …" Sarah paused.

"About me?"

"Yeah, about you … which was really hard because you were one of the few people I could talk to about that stuff. More than anytime before I needed ..." Her restlessness abruptly returned. "... I needed to be _me_, not cover Sarah or business Sarah. I needed that feeling I got when I would open up to you … but I couldn't do that and I couldn't go to your sister either. So ... I thought maybe Shaw would listen. I know, you don't have to say it, but ... I thought since he's an agent and he's gone through some of the same stuff, maybe he'd understand. But when I showed up at his place, he was just so … "

"Cold?"

He saw Sarah's eyes flick up toward the ceiling briefly. "I don't know … I guess. Maybe focused is a better word for it … but not on what I was saying. It was like he was listening for anything that would affect the mission but otherwise he didn't care … he was all platitudes and placation. So, I chickened out. I didn't want to be _me_ around him. At the last second I lied."

"Hold on." Chuck's addled brain was processing slowly. "You're saying your real name isn't …"

"… Sam? Nope. Just another alias."

"Oh wow! You have no idea … I know it shouldn't matter but for some reason I just couldn't let it go."

"And I'm the one who needs to open up, huh? You didn't say a word to me about it before now."

"Touché."

"Well anyway, I'm happy to take it off your chest."

"So what _is_ your real name?"

A spontaneous bark of laughter erupted from Sarah and she let her face fall into her palm, shaking her head. "Chuck, you are nothing if not consistent."

"What? You put me through all that and you aren't going to tell me? Come on. Please, please, please!"

"Oh my god. You're like a four-year-old begging for a toy truck."

"Please!"

"Just know, this approach isn't always going to work."

Chuck's heart leapt and he hopped onto his knees, facing Sarah. She looked at her fingers as they worried the corner of the blanket but said nothing.

"Oh, you can't back out now! It's not a security thing, is it?"

"It's not a security thing I'm worried about."

"Okay, then what's the problem?"

Sarah wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Is it bad?"

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed, suggesting physical harm.

"Oh my god! It _is_ bad, isn't it? Now you have to tell me."

"I swear to god, you tell anyone else and your life is forfeit. I _will_ cut you."

"I swear by the Tron Poster. I swear on Morgan's Millennium Falcon. Whatever you want. Nerds honor I won't tell a soul."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes and mumbled something into the back of her hand.

"What was that?"

"Fifika Lisa Piotrowski."

Chuck blinked, running the syllables through his head. "Wow, that's … that just … um … just rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it."

Sarah's glare made more threats of violence. Chuck decided, for his own safety, to turn Sarah's focus back to the person who was to blame for the name.

"So … what exactly was your dad thinking?"

"Well, Lisa was my mother's name and Fifika is a Roma name. My dad always had a thing about gypsies. Maybe he thought of himself as one with how he never settled down … I don't know. But seriously … there are so many better Romani names for a girl. Fifika? And the best I could tell, it translates to, 'God increases', but the way some people use it, it's more like 'too bad you didn't have a boy; better luck next time'."

"Ouch. I'm sure your dad didn't know that, though. So Piotrowski sounds Polish. I'm guessing you have some Polish ancestry too?"

"I don't know … probably. I never paid much attention to family trees. It was only my dad and me, growing up, and we were always changing our names anyway. I never felt much attachment to any kind of identity until now. But from here on I'm Sarah Walker and that's all anyone needs to know."

"That's who you'll always be to me. Although, you would have had a killer nickname."

Sarah's eyes widened alarmingly, her eyebrows flying up her forehead and her nostrils flaring. "So help me, I will end you, Bartowski!"

"Whoa! Relax. I'd never give you a hard time about it … Fifi." Chuck put on his biggest, brightest, shit-eating grin.

"Oh-ho … you! You don't even know what you just did to yourself. That grin's not gonna save you now."

"I don't suppose it'd help if I pointed out I'm a head trauma victim?"

"It's not your head you've got to worry about."

Chuck instinctively covered his privates as Sarah advanced on him.

"Sweetie, it was all in good fun. There's no need for violence."

"You were warned!"

Chuck wondered if, perhaps, it wasn't the best idea to taunt a woman who had more than a passing acquaintance with torture. Later as he reflected on the hairs that were now missing from several spots on his chest, he decided it was worth it to see Sarah's reaction to being called 'Fifi', but he was more than a little embarrassed that Morgan and Fabrice, in the other room, were likely familiar with the sound of his girlish screams.

He looked down at the tumble of blonde hair splayed across his chest, smiling, trying to reconcile her peaceful face, mouth slightly open and leaking a tiny trail of saliva, with the intense, lethal fury he'd seen there before. So many sides to love about this woman. He sighed deeply, letting sleep creep down his limbs. Despite the chaos earlier, it was the end of a good day and they were both alive to enjoy it. Chuck wondered how many of those there were left and promised himself he would cherish every one that ended this way.

* * *

**A/N:** Let's hope John Casey wasn't listening in on the conversation. Sarah would never hear the end of it. Fifi ...


	7. Chapter 7

_Damn it, how did I get myself into this?_

Sarah's heart rate was fluttering at near panic levels, forcing her to slow her breathing and try to maintain her calm. Her heightened senses detected the subtle flow of climate-controlled air, the faint, stale odor of perspiration from the other victims that had come before her, and the quiet movements of her tormentor, just out of her field of view. Exposed, weaponless, and at the mercy of this efficient stranger, she waited for the deathblow, whether by needle, garrote, or blade, she didn't know. The suspense was the true torture.

"This your first full body massage, Ms. Walker? It can be an intense experience. Sometimes music can make it more soothing." The masseuses' voice exuded an institutional calm, and Sarah became aware that she was resisting the woman's ministrations.

_God, I've got to do something about this paranoia. _"I've had massages before … I'm just really … stressed lately. Maybe some music would help."

Sarah had never been comfortable with the idea of a massage. Nowhere to hide a weapon, her back to a stranger, isolated from backup … it was a security nightmare. However, recently she had enjoyed several post-coital massages from Chuck's talented hands and thought she might have lost her phobia. That had been a mistake, as it was trust, not the activity itself, which was the problem.

Letting Ellie persuade her to take a girls' trip to the spa had been a mistake altogether. Getting close to Ellie while continuing to lie about everything was just asking for trouble, but what could she do? They had bonded so much at the party it truly felt like being welcomed into the family.

_What is with this masseuse? I swear this is worse than R2I training. This better end soon._

When her masseuse paused momentarily to allow Sarah to turn over, she leapt off the table instead, saying a quick thank you and sprinting for the door. Outside she took a few deep breaths to return her calm, the fact that she was standing naked in the hallway far preferable to any more time spent in that torture chamber. She made her way towards the showers then diverted towards the tubs where she found Ellie.

"Hey, Sarah. Is your massage over already? How long have I been in here?"

"You're alright, it hasn't been that long. I cut the massage short. I really don't think massages are my thing. Chuck could give a good one but … sorry, that's probably more than you wanted to hear."

"That's okay. The concept of my brother giving massages I can deal with. Any more than that …"

"Got it. Mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all. It's kind of nice having a little more time to chat without the boys around."

"I don't know. It's a little weird not having Devon try to force one of his culinary inventions on me".

Ellie shook her head laughing. "God Sarah, I'm so sorry about that. You know you don't have to try the stuff he makes, especially if it looks scary."

"It's okay, I think it's cute how he worries so much about everyone's gastrointestinal health."

"At least he means well. Okay, totally changing the subject … but I have to ask. Where did that scar come from? I've seen a few repeat trauma customers. I know what a bullet wound looks like."

Sarah laughed, masking her prickling anxiety. It was such a risk, being this close to Ellie. The woman was smart and observant. She thanked the gods the one on her thigh had healed so well. Trying to explain two was much trickier than one.

"Ah yes … Uncle Vernon's gift to me. I was hanging out at Uncle Vern and Aunt Billie's ranch. He'd spent a day with his buddy Don and a case of Budweiser then decided it was time for handguns. Didn't shout 'all clear', check the firing line, or anything." _Great, more lies._

"Oh shit! How bad were you hurt?"

"Nicked the small bowel, but they didn't have to remove anything. Rehab was a lot of fun. I can't complain now, though, since my abs are mostly from what I learned doing PT." _Well that's all true at least._

"You have anything against giving up your ab routine?"

"Not at all. It's pretty standard stuff, though I might over do it a bit. I work out when I'm stressed."

"Tell me about it. I almost gave my shin a stress fracture from running after my first rotation in medical school." Ellie paused and her expression shifted to something almost sly. "So what get's you stressed? Anything to do with you and Chuck getting back together?"

Sarah's eyes widened before she could cover her surprise, not being prepared for an interrogation.

Ellie smiled. "Ah-hah! I thought so. You know I try to keep out of it ..."

_That's not what I hear._

"... but what's with you guys being so off and on … hot and cold."

_Concerned family … the best spies there are. _Sarah knew she shouldn't get into it but it was so hard, feeling what she'd felt with Chuck and not telling anyone_, _and Ellie was quickly becoming something of a confidant.

"Ellie, it's … complicated."

"Of course it is. It always is. Do you love him?"

"Yes." It wasn't remotely hard to say anymore.

"I mean, really love him."

Sarah saw the mother-bear intensity in Ellie's eyes and it frustrated her to be doubted. Letting the emotion get the best of her, she opened her mouth. "Ellie, there isn't a doubt in my mind, Chuck is the one for me. I just don't know if Chuck is there yet. It might not seem like it but we're both under a lot of stress with work and I don't want to scare him off with commitment talk. I think he just ... needs some time …"

"Time? Chuck needs a brain transplant if he thinks he needs time! How long has he wasted himself on that damn electronics store ..." Ellie paused, taking a deep breath. "This is supposed to be relaxing, isn't it? I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand. Just promise me you won't push him. I want to be able to trust it's his decision."

"I can lay off ... unless he's being completely stupid. I know, I know. It's time to cut the cord. It's just like a reflex though, whenever I think about that boy. I know this has to be what it feels like to be a mom."

Sarah heard the quiet resignation in Ellie's voice and couldn't help feeling a great deal of sympathy for Chuck's older sister. She couldn't imagine how hard it would be to have taken over parenting duties at such a young age.

"You've had that burden for a long time, haven't you … being Chuck's guardian."

"I don't think of Chuck as a burden!"

"No, no. Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. It's just … your parents gave you a lot of responsibility pretty early in your life."

The defensiveness in Ellie's expression stayed a moment longer then softened. "I don't want Chuck to ever think he messed up my life … but there were definitely times it would have been nice going to parties and taking road trips instead of coming home to make sure he did his homework." Then she stiffened and her face became guarded again. "But you know what? It doesn't matter. I love that boy and he turned out to be a good person. I wouldn't change a thing."

"Oh Ellie, don't worry, I wasn't judging you. I know I would never have been able to do what you did, raising him and going to school at the same time. I mean that. I can't even imagine. All I was trying to say was that some parents don't consider what their little ambitions and schemes do to their ..."

"Oh Jesus, tell me about it!"

The outburst seemed to jump out of Ellie's mouth and she quickly averted her eyes, suddenly evasive.

_Whoa. What's that about? _"I'm guessing your dad coming to your wedding didn't smooth over everything?" Ellie met Sarah's eyes for a moment, took a breath as if about to speak, then looked away, slowly releasing it. Sarah sensed something intriguing behind that sigh.

Ellie turned back to Sarah forcing a smile onto her face. "Nope. Not everything, I guess."

_Definitely something intriguing. And given your father's history, I think I need to find out. God I hate this job sometimes_. Sarah frowned at the bubbling surface._ Screw it. If I'm going to get a secret from you, Ellie, then you get one from me. I may have to lie to you about a lot of things but at least I don't have to lie about this._

Sarah scanned the room to see that they were alone and said, "Can you keep a secret, Ellie?"

"Of course." Ellie seemed relieved for the change in subject.

"I've already told Chuck this but nobody else. I ... haven't been exactly truthful to you about my family."

Suddenly Ellie was on guard. "What do you mean?" Seeing Ellie's reaction, Sarah sighed and looked down at her fingers, carefully slicing the through the water.

_I should know better. When it concerns Chuck you'll always be guardian first and friend second. Oh well, too late now. _"I didn't grow up the way I said I did. The sister, the house in Maryland, even what I told you about my mom … none of that was real."

Increasing trepidation registered on Ellie's face but she kept silent.

"I'm sorry I lied to you but the way I grew up … it's not exactly something you want to tell the world about. I only had my father and we never really had a place to call home …"

Ellie's breath came out in a relieved laugh.

"You grew up homeless? Oh Sarah, I'm sorry. You had me scared for a minute. I thought you were going to say something crazy like you were a spy or a con artist."

_Seriously, Ellie!_ "Actually …"

"Oh no. Don't …"

"… my father was … _is_ a con artist. And he raised me to be one too, at least until I was old enough to know better."

"What? Are you joking ... because it isn't funny."

Sarah shook her head. "It's not a joke, Ellie."

"What are we even talking about here ... like picking pockets and stuff ... scams on little old ladies?"

"Well, we usually left the old folks alone. I think it was professional pride for him ... the elderly are pretty easy to steal from."

Ellie drew away from her, lips pulling back in revulsion, her head shaking subtly, unconsciously confirming her objection. "Sarah, why are you telling me this? Why would you think I want to know this." Suspicion was thick in her voice.

Sarah felt her heart sink into the depths of the tub. "I wouldn't bring it up — I'm not proud — but how fair is it for me to talk to you about really personal stuff in your life when I have such an awful secret like this."

Ellie didn't respond and appeared to be ready to leave.

"God, I really screwed this up. You think I'm a criminal now, don't you? I promise you I stopped that life when I was in my teens. I didn't want to be that kind of person."

Whatever she was thinking, Ellie seemed far from convinced, starting to get out of the tub. "I don't know. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this? How did you think I would react? You're dating my brother."

"I don't know. I really didn't think about it." _Which is not like you, Walker. You're being too impulsive lately. "_It just didn't seem right not to tell you."

"And how am I supposed to believe you just stopped? You said your father brought you up to be like that."

"My father wasn't the greatest of fathers so I never grew a loyalty to that life ... to him maybe, but only enough to try to keep him out of trouble"

Ellie coughed. It might have been a sarcastic chuckle.

"Look, I was pretty unhappy through a lot of my childhood. I'm not saying _every_ day was awful but ... if I'd had a choice we wouldn't have lived like that. And the older I got the worse it got. I know that doesn't make what I did any better but that way of living has no attraction for me any more. It hasn't for a long time."

Ellie's expression didn't change but she appeared to be ready to listen.

Sarah took advantage. "There were a lot of reasons I hated it. When I was younger, it was because my Dad wouldn't let me have friends ... or fun. I worked more hours every day than most adults did. Then I got older and I got the added bonus of perspective. I had to realize that everything I owned came at the expense of some of those kids that I wanted to be friends with. If I got a present it was because they had to go without. If _I_ had cool clothes, _they_ were wearing sympathy hand-me-down donations. My father filled my head with bullshit for a little while, that we deserved everything we got, that we worked just as hard as everyone else did for it, but when I turned fourteen I started to see through it all."

"So you just quit?" Ellie wasn't masking the disbelief in her voice.

"No. I was fourteen. It's not like I knew any other way. And I was scared he'd reject me. What if he turned me out and I was on my own? Though after a while, that actually started to sound more like a good thing. Then on New Years Day, right after I turned seventeen, I told him I was done with it and if he didn't agree then I would find a real family to live with … or I'd just live on the street. He knew I would too, so, instead, he let me stay in school while he went to work with a crew … at least until he landed himself in federal custody."

"What happened then? Foster homes?" It was the first hint of concern Ellie had expressed and Sarah began to hope.

"God no. CPS would have had to have found me first."

"So you just got by on your own?"

"For a little while. Even then I didn't go back to the life. I got some help here and there so I was okay." _Or more accurately, I got thrown from the frying pan into the fire by Graham._

"But it's not easy, being out there on your own?" There was a hint of sympathy in Ellie's voice

"To be honest, as bad as it was, I still think you had it worse, Ellie."

"I don't know. I think suffering is relative. So, if this was so far in your past, why couldn't you tell me about it before?" Her body language had relaxed but Sarah could hear the distrust still lingering in her voice.

"Ellie, I judge myself enough on my own. There isn't a day I don't think about making up for what me and my father did, so hearing the judgment in other peoples' voices … seeing it in their faces … the self loathing can get to be too much."

The last vestige of defensiveness left Ellie's voice. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm being such a shit. You tell me something as personal and painful as this and I freak out like you're going to run off with my purse or something."

"… or run off with your Chuck?"

Ellie's face broke into a sweet smile. "Or Chuck."

"Well you've got good reason to worry about people like I used to be. Chuck's greatest quality and biggest weakness is how he always looks for the best in people. I would never let someone like my father near him …" _Too late for that._ "… or near you or Devon, for that matter."

"Is he out … your father? Out of jail, I mean."

"Yup, he's out there, still running cons as far as I know." _Okay, now ask me, Ellie. Please!_

"Do you ever see him?"

"Oh yeah, usually at the worst times. He just pops up with some scheme going on, always trying to sucker me in on whatever he's doing. It's like he doesn't even realize I have my own life."

"What is with that? It's like, just because they're your parents they think whatever they've got going on is more important than …" Ellie stopped, averting her eyes like before, apparently realizing she'd said more than she wanted to. Sarah felt little joy in the victory.

"Is something wrong?" _Come on, Ellie. You need to tell me for your sake and your father's.  
_

"Sarah, can you keep a secret?"

_Not this one._ "Yes."

"My father just did the same thing to me about three weeks ago. He just popped up out of nowhere, trying to get me involved in his … whatever."

"What'd he want you to do?"

"He was adamant that I shouldn't tell anyone … including Chuck. Especially Chuck."

"Oh, right, sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay. That's just my paranoid father being himself." Ellie paused, thoughtful for a moment. "You know, screw it. I don't know why I'm still listening to him. There's no reason I shouldn't tell you about it."

"Are you worried about him?"

"I don't know. What he asked me to do seems so ... random. He just has me following these congressional races."

"Congressional races?"

"Yeah, like house and senate races ... poll watching and stuff."

"He just wants you to follow the polls? All the races? That sounds like a lot of work."

"No, he was really interested only in races where the tide had recently turned on the incumbent. I guess that's pretty innocuous but why can't he just follow this stuff on the Internet?"

_Because he's gone off the grid. He can't risk a search that would pop him up on someone's radar. But now that means _you_ are on someone's radar, Ellie. What the hell is he thinking? He could be putting you at risk! So … why would he go to ground? The Ring's likely after him… but what about Shaw? And what if Stephen knows about Shaw? That would explain why he doesn't want Chuck involved. He wouldn't think his son is a traitor, though, would he? God, what a mess._

"Has your dad always been interested in politics?"

"No … well … actually he used to be really intense about it but he eventually ended up tuning out, I guess to keep his blood pressure down. For a second I thought maybe he'd gotten obsessed again. This is so random and crazy I was worried he was going to turn out to be the next conspiracy nut trying to blow up a federal building or assassinating a politician or something ... but the incumbents he has me following are all over the political map. Whatever it is, it's not a partisan thing."

"No connection between any of them?" Sarah felt a chill run up her spine despite the hot water. Something about these races had her instincts tingling.

"I don't know. This is my father we're talking about. I haven't seen any evidence of paranoid schizophrenia but I wouldn't be surprised if all of this was just the sequelae of some mental illness. I should put a stop to it." Ellie gave a quick shake of her head and, smiled. "You know what? This is supposed to be a relaxing day away from stress and here we are talking about our crazy fathers."

Sarah forced a laugh. "Oh my god, what is wrong with us? Does that make us those people that can't ever relax?" _Yes, that's exactly who I am ... though __I guess I'm not going to find your father in a women-only spa. I should make the best of this._

"You know, Sarah, I normally fit that description but while we're here we get to be different people. Listen, I'm sorry about before. You've shown yourself to be a very good person and friend, and you're really good for my brother. If it ever happens — I'll leave it up to you two to get it figured out — but if it ever happens I would love to have you as a sister-in-law."

At the word sister, Sarah felt a pulling ache in her chest. She was about to give Ellie a big hug when she considered their state of undress and shelved it for later.

"Now, lets be those people who know how to relax. How about we get facials?"

Sarah plastered on what she hoped was a convincing smile but the warm fuzzy feeling was gone instantly. She imagined herself lying on her back, blinded by cucumber slices, waiting while the aesthetician – who, in Sarah's paranoid imaginings, was a Ring agent in disguise – was preparing to plunge needles into her eyes, cut her throat, or burn her face with a hot iron. She shivered and then began to mentally prepare for the ordeal.

_God! There's one thing I can agree with Casey on. Next time you want to relax, Ellie, I'm introducing you to the shooting range._

* * *

**A/N:** Another clue. Those should start coming more regularly now as the story ramps up. The only problem is, I've reached the end of all the stuff I already have written and am now at the point of what I'm currently writing. I think what I may do is pause, finish several chapters, then start posting again. Let me know what you think._  
_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Agh! It's been over two weeks since I last updated! Sorry. Here's a chapter with some plot goodness to keep up the momentum a little. Yeah, it's long but I think it's totally worth it.

**A/N:** In this chapter there are some details of the location Chuck's apartment complex. Now the actual complex that the set in the show is based off of is actually in Hollywood (that's where the overhead shots of it come from and where the pilot episode was filmed), but we know that Chuck lives somewhere in Echo Park. So, for those of of you very detailed Chuckophiles, I've arbitrarily put their apartment complex on the northeast corner of Rosemont and Marathon, in the Echo Park neighborhood.

* * *

_Cereal good. Gatorade good. Tylenol very good! _

Chuck's thoughts were uncomplicated, not surprising considering the way his brain felt a size too large for his skull. He was holding an icepack to the back of his head with one hand and inexpertly scooping cereal into his mouth with his other, spilling milk down his chin. He'd woken up a little after 1:30 in the afternoon as Sarah was leaving for her spa day with Ellie and he'd quickly limited his ambitions to controlling the damage from the night before. He felt he deserved a day lacking excitement anyway. For once, Chuck was just happy to be alone in his apartment, blinds closed, his throbbing head approving of the silence and darkness.

"Hey bro." The banging of the front door combined with Awesome's booming cheeriness was like glass shattering in Chuck's cranium.

"Jesus! Awe … Devon, now's not the best …"

"I understand, my man. Hard drinking, scrambled noggin? What you need, my friend, is man-grass and fish-egg therapy."

Chuck's stomach spasmed uncomfortably. "Uh … not that I don't appreciate …"

"Start off with a mango protein smoothie – get your electrolytes and vitamins – and chase it with a shot of wheat grass to clean you out. Man-grass."

"Nice. You do realize I'm not a fuel injector, right?"

"Then we follow with a three-egg, smoked salmon omelet, to build up your glutathione levels and give you some omega-3s for that achy brain of yours."

"Oh god …" With another mention of eggs and fish, Chuck's stomach did a somersault.

"I know! Sounds great, right?"

"I think I'm gonna vom … oh, not good … breath in, breath out …"

"Come on, man. Our ladies are out together and neither of us has to work today; we should be doing something. You and I don't hang out much but we're family now."

"I know. You're right, Devon. I'm just not feeling … awesome right now, that's all."

"Not feeling up to the Woodcomb remedy, huh?"

"Not so much, no."

"Alright, then we do like we all did in college: greasy cheeseburger and fries."

"Now _that_ I can do. Do I have to change out of sweats?"

A few ibuprofen, sunglasses, and a baseball cap later, Chuck peeked out of his cave into the courtyard. The outside was a lot brighter than he remembered, despite it being mildly overcast.

"Gaah! It burns. I think this was a bad idea."

A growl came from the other side of the fountain. "Man up, pumpkin. Where're you two off to?"

"Hey, John. Little bro here needs a hangover burger."

"Mind if I come along?" Casey didn't sound like he was asking.

Devon glanced at Chuck, his brows coming together. "Uh … sure, John."

Casey gave Chuck an expectant stare but Chuck remained silent, too fuzzy headed to know what the big man wanted.

"What were you guys thinking? In-N-Out, Lucky Boy …"

One name crawled up from Chuck's subconscious "Patra's!" He rasped it like a zombie moaning for brains. "Need greasy food … Orange Bang."

"Ech! That's disgusting." Casey made a face as if Chuck had suggested drinking LA river water.

"Seriously, bro. Orange Bang? With your stomach?" Devon was shaking his head.

"It's good! Whatever … you two don't have to have any."

"Fine, Patra's. We'll take my car." The finality in Casey's tone woke Chuck out of his fog.

_Your car? Since when do you offer rides in the new Vic? Is this about that Taproot guy in my living room?_

"They piled into Casey's new pride and joy, making a minimum of conversation. Chuck leaned against the window, staring out at the cars on his own street, then on Sunset.

"Quit smudging the window."

"It's just a car, Casey, jeez." Chuck sank into the backseat, rolling his eyes. Ignoring the glare in the rear view mirror, he let his mind drift over the possible implications of the previous night's intruder, though he didn't want to consider any of them.

_They came to my house! Ellie, Morgan, Awesome … they don't deserve to get pulled into this … again._ _You were the one that decided to try and become an agent, Chuck; _they_ didn't get a vote. You better get your head in the game because it's entirely your responsibility if anything happens to them._

Just then he was pulled out of his thoughts when Casey turned onto Lemoyne Street, heading north. Chuck spoke up. "Uh … where are we going?"

"Little detour. I need to get some cash."

"John, I can spot you."

Casey didn't respond to Awesome's offer and Chuck was instantly alert. "You see something?"

"Not yet."

"See what? Okay, whoa. What's going on here guys?" Awesome's voice had climbed a register.

"Nothing man. Relax. Casey is just ridiculously thorough when it comes to checking for tails … right?" Casey didn't respond. _Thanks for the help, jackass._

"You do this every time you leave the house?" Awesome wasn't buying it.

"Every so often or when protocol dictates." Casey said this flatly and Chuck noticed he was suddenly very focused.

"So which is this, every so often or protocol?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," again, completely flat.

This silenced both men. Chuck was ready to ask several questions but knew Casey needed to concentrate. He followed their meandering course in his mind, trying to avoid the temptation to turn around and look. They headed north towards Silver Lake, stopping at an ATM, and then east, stopping at a gas station on Glendale before getting back on Sunset, bringing them to Patra's.

"That's it, I can't take this. Are we being followed or not?" Anxiety was bubbling over in Awesome's voice.

"You want the good news or the bad news first." Casey pulled into a space in the lot behind Patra's.

"Uh … bad, I guess."

"Yep, we're being followed."

"Oh man! Why can't getting a burger with you guys just be about getting a burger? What's the good news?"

"It's a nice day so, even though we'll be eating outside, at least we won't get wet." Casey smirked and clapped Awesome on the shoulder. His sarcasm was apparently un-dinted by their surveillance.

"What the hell, John! You're actually enjoying this?"

"I think he lives for this, Devon." Chuck was certain of it.

"Relax, ladies. They're still following us, which means they want something. We'll start worrying when they stop." As usual, it was impossible to tell if Casey was attempting to reassure or screw with them.

Patra's was surprisingly busy for the time of day and Chuck spotted more than a few hangover recoveries in progress. All three ordered burgers, though the Captain's face suggested he was less than enthusiastic about eating. As Casey had figured, they had to eat outside and they munched silently, carefully watching the traffic on Sunset. Chuck's curiosity soon got the best of him and he queried Casey.

"So, what kind of team was it? Any idea who they were … are?"

"Why do you think it was a team?"

"Well, you went to a bank and a gas station using as many turns as possible before coming here. I'm guessing it took a while to figure out so … probably more than one car."

Casey grunted which Chuck chose to interpret as grudging approval. "Two cars, rotating — which any operator worth a damn could spot — but they were hanging way back so it made it harder. I almost didn't notice them because both cars dropped us completely a couple times then picked us up later. Makes you wonder how they stayed with us, doesn't it?"

"Third car?"

"Nope. Traffic's too light. I would've spotted it."

Chuck's eyes grew round. "Tracker?"

Casey nodded. Chuck pointed to himself and Casey continued to nod.

_Fucking Shaw! _The booming in Chuck's occipital lobe returned with his frustration.

"What are you guys talking about? What did he mean by 'tracker'?" Awesome apparently had had enough of being left out of the loop.

"It means we might have a good idea who sent these guys to follow us but it's gonna be hard to ID the actual guys in the cars." Casey turned to Chuck. "We're gonna need Walker."

Chuck saw the baffled look on Awesome's face as he gave up trying to understand. He felt for his brother-in-law but knew it was better he stay uninformed. It was bad enough that he knew about the Ring. Chuck turned back as Casey grumbled at his phone.

"What's up?"

"Walker's not answering her phone."

"It's a clothes free spa, Casey. It's not like she's going to have her cell phone on her."

"That's not very professional."

"Yeah, well I'm sure _you_ would have found a place to hide it, Casey." Chuck saw Awesome cover his mouth, coughing. "So what do we need her here for?"

"We need somebody to get eyes on our surveillance."

"The two of us can't do that?"

"It's complicated with your …" Casey nodded at Chuck.

_The damn bug makes everything complicated._ "I might have a way around that." Chuck brought out his phone. "I've hacked a little app on my phone so that I can clone the signal from the …" Chuck glanced at Awesome. "… from the thingy." Casey Grunted and rolled his eyes. Chuck continued. "The app keeps it from trans … it keeps the damn thing quiet the whole time the signal is cloned, at least until the software resets the password in a few hours. To anyone who's following us, this phone might as well be the … you know ... the thingy."

"So that's how you and Walker were getting away with it." Casey grunted, a smirk on his face. Another possible sign of approval? "Alright, that makes it a little easier, but we'll still need Devon."

Chuck and Awesome responded simultaneously. "No!"

"Settle down. Devon, all you have to do is sit in the front of the car pretending to be Chuck." Casey's voice became suddenly paternal. "Look, if we figure out who these guys are then we'll have a better idea if you and Ellie are in any danger. Maybe that'll help you sleep better tonight."

Devon seemed dubious, and Chuck didn't buy Casey's tone for a second. Still, he didn't know how long their tails would stay with them or remain detectable, so waiting for Sarah carried a risk. As neither Chuck or Devon had spoken up, Casey began detailing his plan. Chuck realized he would be doing a lot of the heavy lifting and his adrenaline picked up, his flagging hangover symptoms forgotten. They finished their lunch quickly, Casey pausing to make a short call to a cab company, then returned to the Vic.

As they made their way down Sunset, towards home, Chuck found himself recalling the early days, back when he'd first gotten the Intersect. He remembered looking at his city as if he'd never really seen it before, completely bewildered at how much secret activity could take place along the 101 corridor. There were times he wished he could return to ignorance, but once that curtain was pulled aside, it was impossible to go back.

Casey turned onto Rosemont and Chuck pushed these thoughts to the background, preparing himself and activating the signal cloning app. They passed out of view of their tails, which were hanging back a block and a half, and Casey hit the accelerator, taking them to the end of the block, and their apartment complex in seconds. Chuck slid out of the front seat, tossing his hoody, cap, and phone with the cloned signal to Devon, who replaced him. He took Devon's phone, plus a sweatshirt and navy blue cap that Casey had fished out of his trunk, then sprinted around the corner onto Marathon. He held his breath, not seeing what he was looking for, then let it out as he spotted the cab Casey had called earlier.

The cabbie was at first baffled by the fact that Chuck wanted to have a car followed and didn't have a specific destination. Then Chuck laid four $20 bills on the front seat and the instructions were quickly understood. Chuck knew Casey was headed towards the 2 and, after giving him an appropriate lead, had the cabbie follow him. As they exited the 2 onto the 5 heading north Devon's phone vibrated.

"Bartowski!"

"Yep."

"I see you back there. You're coming up on the B car now. It's a maroon Chevy Impala."

"I see it. Actually, Casey, that's more of a cabernet … maybe a …"

"Moron!"

"Sorry, I'm on it."

Chuck didn't dare tell the cabbie who they were following, instead directing him to the far left lane, one lane to the left of the Impala. He held Awesome's phone to his right ear, adjusted the angle, then waited for his moment. As they passed the Impala on the left side, he hit the button to begin video recording and prayed. Between Casey's hat and sweatshirt, the sunglasses, and his hand holding the phone covering the left side of his face, he was effectively hidden, but regardless he still felt exposed.

The cab passed the Impala without incident. After they pulled ahead a few car lengths, Chuck went to look at the video but Casey rang him first.

"Bartowski, what'd you do?"

"What? What happened?"

"They just broke off. They're getting off on Olive."

Chuck turned to see the Impala in the far right lane, dropping back to exit off the freeway. He assumed the A car had already gotten off. It occurred to him then that Sarah would have hit him for turning to look.

"I don't know, Casey. I don't think they saw …"

"Hold on … interesting ... now that's not a coincidence."

"What?"

"Meet us at the underground lot for the AMC by the BTC. Hold onto the cab."

"Why? What …" Chuck stopped speaking as Casey had already hung up_._

He told the cabbie the new destination then set to playing back the video he'd taken. The picture was small but had decent resolution. It showed the shaking image of the side of the Impala, the view creeping towards the front of the car. He could see there was a passenger next to the driver, then the drivers face, and …. Chuck's eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering. Pictures, files, and dates burst from his memory like startled birds.

_Timothy McCardle … former NCS operator … confirmed as a Ring operative by *redacted* February 16__th__, 2010 … _

Chuck couldn't focus on the details that followed.

_Ring? Not Shaw? Then how were they tracking us?_

He looked up to see the cabbie pulling off the freeway and wondered how Casey would respond. At the theater's underground lot, Chuck located Casey's Vic on the second level.

"Casey, I looked at the video. The guys who were following us were …"

"Ring?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I just got a hit on the key tracker I put in the number pad for the gate at that storage place we checked out last month. You know, the one with the …"

"Yep. I remember."

"Somebody's getting into that unit. Those two cars dropped us about twenty seconds before I got the notification. How much you wanna bet they're off to help out loading or unloading something there … or providing escort."

"It's a good bet. But if they were Ring, how were they following so loosely before?"

"Dunno. I might have to sweep the Vic again."

"We should get to the storage place before they leave."

"Hold on there, speedy. I wouldn't leave a key tracker on the front entrance without having surveillance there too. Let me just check …" He paused, his fingers moving over the screen of a tablet he'd pulled from a case in the trunk, then, "damn it!"

"What?"

"Nothing. Things just got a little more complicated."

"What happened, Casey?"

Casey preceded his response with a growl. "I piggybacked the power from the building's security cameras for my own surveillance. I figured whoever was renting that one unit would just loop the security feeds or wipe the tapes when they showed up to get into the unit. I didn't think they'd cut the power for the cameras completely. We have no eyes over there at all now."

"Then let's go!"

"Umm, guys …" Both had completely forgotten about the Good Captain. "If you both don't mind, I'll just head back home. I'd rather not …"

Casey turned to Awesome with a smirk. "Devon, how do you feel about watching a movie?"

* * *

Chuck was clinging to his perch fifteen feet up an old oak, remembering that this wasn't how he'd planned his hangover recovery. Casey stood on the ground below, waiting … barely. They were hiding in a small cluster of trees behind a self-storage facility in Pasadena, just off the 210, watching the unit which they had identified months previously as belonging to a Ring cell. This cell had already suspiciously attracted the special attention of Shaw so the other members of the team had found it prudent to withhold any further intelligence on the cell from him, including this unit.

A moving truck, with ramp extended, and a tan Suburban were parked in front but the door to the unit was closed, presumably with Chuck's targets inside. Chuck took another look through Casey's binoculars wondering if he'd catch a view of any of the men before he and Casey had to go. They needed to sneak back to the cab and get to the movie theater where Awesome was babysitting Chuck's phone before the bug reset itself in about an hour and fifteen minutes, shutting off the cloned signal. They didn't want the tracking software recording Chuck's position as having jumped over ten miles in a second.

_Come on, guys. What the hell are you doing in there? God … the fare for this cab is gonna break me._

Chuck made another visual perimeter check with the binoculars. He had spotted the maroon Impala earlier, slowly cruising the street in front of the storage facility but hadn't seen it in the last fifteen minutes. He guessed he and Casey were far enough from the street to avoid easy detection from that direction but both were worried about roving foot patrols. Whatever was going on was apparently important enough to warrant covert security.

A loud report from the storage unit caused Chuck to flatten himself against the branch, nearly throwing himself out of the tree. Sitting back up, he brought the binoculars to focus on the unit and saw four men standing around a large crate at the bottom of the truck's ramp. There were splintered timbers on the ground in front of the crate which one man was gesturing at wildly while another crossed to him and struck him in the face. The gesturing man went down, holding his nose while the other flexed his hand. Chuck's eyes became riveted on the palm of that hand, seeing a familiar mark: a criss-crossing burn scar.

Then the flashes came in quick succession as he saw the faces of the men around the crate. He had never experienced the disorienting flow of information while being so precariously perched and a panicky vertigo overtook him. He reached for the tree limb to steady himself but overcompensated and rocked sideways. The Intersect activated again and he twisted as he fell grabbing at the limb with his fingers. Catching hold, his body swung toward the tree's trunk and the impact drove the air out of him in a loud "oof".

Chuck dropped to the ground hearing shouts from the storage unit. Before he could recover Casey was in his face, hissing questions. Chuck could only answer, "Run!"

They took off sprinting towards a low wall bordering a back yard behind the storage facility. They vaulted the wall, running for the driveway beside the house. At the end of the driveway was a low gate topped with a row of decorative spikes. Both men hurdled this as well, Chuck's genetic contribution to the next generation momentarily in doubt.

Turning the corner onto the frontage road they raced east towards where they hoped the cab was still parked, one-hundred fifty yards down the road. They had made it only a block when Casey turned down a side street calling for Chuck to follow. Chuck turned with him, not understanding, then dove behind a parked car as Casey did the same. The sound of a racing engine coming up the frontage road was the only explanation Chuck needed.

Casey was in Chuck's face again. "Did they see you … the guys at the storage unit?"

"No. I fell before they knew I was up in the tree. I'm sure they heard me though."

"You fell? Moron! No wonder you made so much noise. How the hell did you fall when you'd been sitting up there for half an hour?"

"I'd like to see you flash and hold onto a tree branch at the same time."

"You flashed? You saw them?"

"Yeah. Casey, those men …"

"Hold on. Tell me later. Time to run!"

They returned to the frontage road, sprinting for the cab, hoping it hadn't left or been noticed. Chuck thanked his recent conditioning for even being able to keep up with Casey. They approached the block with the cab and Chuck began to feel they'd gotten away. Then he noticed the empty space where the cab had been.

"No!"

"Shit!"

Tires spun briefly behind them and they heard an engine approaching. They raced up a nearby driveway to find cover behind a parked car when they heard a shouting voice behind them.

"Hey! You think you can just ditch the fare?" It was the cabbie's voice.

Not even taking the time to laugh or be relieved both men turned on the spot and raced for the cab, opening the door and flattening themselves against the seats.

"What's going on? Are you guys in trouble? I don't want to be involved in trouble?"

Casey grumbled at the cabbie with a hint of menace. "What's happening is that you are making yourself an extra fifty-dollars on top of the tip the moron here already promised you. Now go!"

As before, the cabbie quickly became compliant getting them to Altadena and then to the 210, heading west. By some miracle they weren't followed and Casey blew out a sigh of relief.

In a low rumble he asked Chuck, "So, what did you see back there?"

Chuck responded with a whisper. "There were four guys trying to get a crate into the moving van. There were more crates in the unit. I think the one was really heavy because it splintered a piano dolly while they were trying to get it up the ramp. I'm pretty sure that's what that loud sound was. Also, They all had MP-5s, or something similar, and they weren't trying hard to conceal them."

"Hmm. Something valuable in those crates. So these guys were Ring too?"

Chuck was silent a moment. "One of them was the guy I found in my living room last night … the one that worked with Eve Shaw." Chuck paused seeing Casey's eyes grow wide. "Those two were part of Taproot, a nine-person team. Casey, there were four guys with the crate … and there were two men in the Impala."

"There were probably two more in the other chase car. That's eight plus …"

"Eve … makes nine. Yeah. And the Intersect identified all four of the guys with the crate and the one guy in the chase car as Ring."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

Chuck could only shake his head, the mystery far beyond anything he wanted to tackle at the moment.

_All I wanted to do today was nurse a hangover_.

* * *

**A/N:** Next up, a character reveals a hidden skill.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Some of you may have noticed I try to stick to only one character's perspective per chapter or at least until a section break. With the exception of chapter 4 in this story I've been pretty disciplined about it but in this chapter it worked out to well to have a little shift in perspective. Hopefully you don't find it too jarring.

**A/N:** Not too much in the way of clues in this chapter but some events that happen will heavily impact the rest of the story.

* * *

_If only life had a pause button.  
_

Sarah looked down at Chuck's peaceful, slack face as she held his head in her lap. They had been watching the second Evil Dead movie in honor of Halloween but she had turned it off after he'd fallen asleep; whatever charm he saw in the movie was lost on her. She smiled, seeing how carelessly he was sprawled across the couch, his trust in her, complete. As it usually did, this brought out her strong maternal feelings; despite the Intersect and all she'd taught him, he still had a knack for finding trouble.

She had smacked him so hard when she'd found out what he and Casey had done while she was stuck at the spa. The three of them were eating dinner at the BTC food court, having sent poor Devon home by cab. After administering the Charlie horse to Chuck's arm she told them about the tail she'd acquired, driving back from the spa. That had answered at least one question: all of team Bartowski was now under surveillance.

Sarah had hesitated before telling her other news, pondering how Chuck would respond. Still, she knew better than to keep it to herself and she told them about her conversation with Ellie. To her surprise, Chuck didn't seem angry about her interrogation of his sister, and she took it as a sign of his increasing trust in her. On the other hand, his face had darkened when she suggested his father might know about Shaw, and he'd nearly lost it, wondering aloud how it would look that they were working with a traitor. Before they had time to discuss it any further, Chuck had spotted two of the men from Taproot just reestablishing their surveillance and the three were forced to finish dinner making no more than small talk.

Sarah looked down as Chuck twitched and moaned in his sleep and she ran her fingers through his curls till he quieted.

_You poor boy. All that time, being the only one defending your father to Ellie and now wondering if he wouldn't do the same for you._

She yawned, wishing for a way to teleport them into his bed; he was so peaceful, it seemed like a crime to wake him. She was pondering how Chuck would feel about being carried to bed — and if it was feasible — when she was startled by a knock at the door. Chuck shot up as if he'd heard a gun and went to the door before Sarah could stop him. Sarah was relieved to hear Ellie's voice on the other side calling her brothers name. Chuck opened the door to a curious sight: Ellie in scrubs looking frazzled, a round-eyed baby in her arms, and a diaper bag on her shoulder.

"Thank god you guys are here. Chuck, you need to do me a favor. There was a huge accident on the 5 just outside the Bob Hope … two buses, a gas tanker, several cars. They're calling all of us in, including me and Devon as well as both of Lalita's parents." She indicated the drooling, saucer-eyed bundle. "Jayshree told me it's okay if you looked after her until whenever she gets off her shift."

Chuck started to back away. "Ellie, I don't even …"

"Please, Chuck. I need to get to the hospital and there's no one else to take her. She's already been fed for the night and she'll probably be asleep in a few minutes. She's got her monkey and her giraffe in the bag, here's a bottle if she needs it and when she's asleep you can put her in here." She indicated a car seat carrier at her feet. "Just make sure she doesn't fall asleep on her tummy." Ellie grabbed the carrier and passed it through, then shoved Lalita and the diaper bag at Chuck. "Thank you little brother. Jayshree will call when she's on her way."

Before Chuck could say another word, Ellie had sprinted off towards the courtyard's exit.

_And Chuck turns to me in 3, 2, 1 …_

"Sarah?" Chuck's eyes were as round as Lalita's.

"Don't look at me, Chuck. This is the closest I've been to a baby since … actually this may the closest I've ever been to a baby."

"Oh come on, Sarah. You have to help me with this."

"Sweetie, I don't know how much help I would be."

Whether it was the concept of being taken care of by two rank amateurs or the fact that she was being held at arms length like unexploded ordnance, Lalita decided that something in her world required an _immediate_ adjustment. Her face screwed up into a sour expression, tears began to leak from her eyes, and a hiccupy squall built up in her throat.

"Oh no. Don't cry. It's okay." Chuck looked at Sarah. "What did I do? What _do_ I do?"

"I don't know. Maybe hold her against you instead of at arm's length."

"Okay … head goes here, feet go there. Is that better? No? I don't think it's working."

"Alright, where's your laptop?"

"Kitchen table."

Sarah slipped into a chair and opened Chuck's computer. She began a quick search, trusting the Internet to hold answers to all problems.

"Okay it says you should rock her and shush her in her ear."

"Shush her? What the hell does that mean? Here, why don't you try?"

"Ha! You think I'd be any better at this than you?"

"Well, you're a woman. Don't you have some kind of maternal instincts or something?"

"Oh-ho, really now. That's enough Mad Men for you. What about me makes you think I'd be any good with babies? Just quit arguing and shush."

Chuck did as he was told and, to his amazement, within a minute, Lalita began to quiet down.

"Well look at you, Chuck. Apparently you're the one with the maternal instincts."

"Funny. Well, hopefully you have them too because I'm gonna have to pass her off to you."

"What?"

"I'm sure, at her age, she wouldn't retain any memory of it, but even so, I'm not about to take her with me where I'm …"

"Okay, Chuck , you could just have said you needed to use the bathroom." Sarah sighed with apprehension. "Give her to me."

With great care, as if she really was handling unexploded ordnance, Sarah took Lalita, her heart beating a little faster than a jaded intelligence officer's should.

_She's heavier than I would have expected. And, wow, she really squirms! Am I not holding you right? There, is that better? Okay, little one, the two of us can get through this. Despite all the things I've done I'm really not a bad person, I promise. Oops, more rocking and more shushing, huh? That's better. Oh, do you like my hair? Wow, you've got a strong little grip. Ow! Okay, ponytail time. You really are cute, you know. _

Chuck came back to the living room, minutes later, to find Sarah settled on the couch with Lalita. To his surprise she didn't rush to pass the little girl off, instead seeming quite content.

"You two look like you're getting along."

"It's not really that hard. It is kind of scary though, holding another person like this. I mean, she's going to be an adult some day, maybe a doctor or teacher or scientist, and here I am holding her like a football."

"Kind of amazing, actually."

Whether he meant to or not, Chuck had used a danger word from Sarah's old message code and both their eyes ticked up toward the ceiling out of instinct. The Taproot thing might or might not have been related to Shaw but it had everyone on edge. As if it could ward off the unseen menace, Sarah reached for the remote and turned on the TV. They watched quietly, passing Lalita off when an arm or shoulder got tired, content just to be caring for a sleeping little one. Sarah was surprised how calming it was to watch the tiny, peaceful face. As they sat she became intensely conscious of Chuck next to her and at one point, caught him watching her rock the little girl.

_I wonder what's going through his head right now, especially after last night?_

Before Sarah could follow the thought any further, Morgan came through the front door.

"Hey Chuck, hey Sar … oh no … no, no! Chuck! What have you done?"

"Morgan …"

"What did you bring into this house?"

"Buddy, I'm just doing Ellie a favor for one of her friends. She had no where else to …"

"You know how I feel about ... those. This is worse than keeping strange cheeses in the fridge. This is a violation of basic human … you know what, I don't need this. I'll be in my room."

Morgan stalked down the hallway slamming his door behind him.

Sarah stared after him wondering if Chuck's friends could get any more bizarre. "What's with him?"

"He kind of has this phobia with babies. I think it has something to do with the fact his mother used to run a daycare when he was a kid."

"Weird …"

At the sound of the door slamming, Lalita woke up and began fussing. Rather than settling down again she ramped up to her earlier siren and Sarah winced. Chuck repeated the trick Sarah had taught him but it was without effect.

"Oh crap, Sarah. Shushing isn't working."

"Rock her too."

"I am! I'm rocking, I'm shushing. Morgan's going to have a fit in a second. What do I do?"

Sarah was about to appeal to the Internet once more when her nose twitched.

"Oh. Chuck, I think … wow … yeah, she definitely needs …"

Chuck sniffed. "Wow! Oh man. I think you're right. Okay, we got this. Umm, what do we need?"

"Diapers?"

"Yes, where's the diaper bag. Okay, we got diapers …"

"Wipes?"

"Yep. Got those."

"Maybe something to put her down on?"

"Okay … what do we got … a blanket? That'll work. Alright, now … some gloves? Maybe? No gloves?" Chuck shuddered involuntarily. "Well, I guess that's what soap and water is for. So …" He took a deep breath then screwed up his nose. "… where should I start?"

"I don't know … put her down and take her diaper off, I guess?"

"You sound like you know this better than me. Why don't you try?" Chuck looked at Sarah hopefully.

"Oh no! Uh-uh. Ellie gave her to _you_ first. Besides, doesn't the … you know … have a flash that's relevant for this?"

"Oh, high-lari-ty. _Now_ you decide to be funny?"

Lalita continued squalling wondering at the incompetence of the two supremely unhelpful adults. As she wailed she was startled again by the same loud bang that had woken her previously. Then a funny, hairy-faced man appeared before her, pushing the worthless idiots out of the way, saying angry words.

"Pathetic! Amateurs!"

The hairy man reminded Lalita of Daddy as he smiled at her, and she stopped crying. He poked a finger at her belly, made faces, and spoke to her with the happy words she liked to hear. This man knew what he was doing. He had her diaper off and her bottom cleaned in no time. Back in a clean diaper, she was handed to the useless yellow-haired one and, to Lalita's disappointment, the funny, hairy man quickly disappeared back into the dark place, saying more angry words.

"This never happened. I'm serious. I don't want to hear about it … ever." Morgan shut the door behind him, cutting off any potential questions.

Sarah was stunned. "_That_ … was unexpected. Did he just …"

"… make us look like incompetent fools? Yep, I think he did. I guess Bolonia had him doing more at the daycare than he ever admitted to me."

"You learn something new every day. Morgan Grimes: baby whisperer."

* * *

_Come on Ellie, tell me you're not as cautious as your father._

Sarah was picking through the strata of personal treasures, papers, books, and office paraphernalia, which had collected in Ellie and Devon's office/spare bedroom. The task of sifting this haystack for the list of the races Stephen was following or his whereabouts, without leaving a trace of her search, would normally have been a painful task in itself. The fact that she was again betraying the trust of someone she'd like to call family, regardless of Chuck's grudging consent, left her feeling contaminated in a way she wasn't sure she could wash off.

_Damn it, Stephen! Why are you making me do this to your daughter? And why tonight?_

She had been reluctant to leave the cozy arrangement on the couch, she, Chuck, and the baby. Sarah's mind was as unruly as it had ever been and she couldn't help but imagine a similar tableau that included their own child. This had resulted in a storm of conflicted feelings, a suppressed baby fever she knew must be driven by her own biology balanced by a deep fear of being trapped in a life she couldn't understand. Still she found, by nuzzling into the pocket between Chuck's arm and torso, she could quiet these thoughts.

_Oh, and what do we have here?_

As she was flipping through an old clinical neurology textbook the pages parted to reveal a folded piece of notebook paper stuck between. She carefully opened it, illuminated it with her flashlight, and saw a list of names written in a hand that wasn't Ellie's or Devon's. Guessing this was likely the list she was looking for, she took a picture with her phone. A moment later, a distinct click downstairs halted her movement.

_What was that?_

It had sounded an awful lot like the spring-loaded latch that the doors on all these apartments had. She listened, motionless, and heard nothing else, but the tightening of the skin on her arms told her that someone had entered below and was attempting to remain silent. She replaced the notebook paper and book and clicked off her flashlight, her pulse suddenly racing. Shaw would be looking for Stephen Bartowski as well, if not to capture then to kill. The Ring would want him too … and the government. The list of those who would want to know his whereabouts was long.

_Shit shit shit!_

Her mind began working on a plan of escape, possibly through the second floor window, but she quickly ruled it out. If she left, the intruder might find something she'd missed, something to lead them to the elder Bartowski. Chuck and Ellie were family and she was damn sure not going let anyone harm their father. She bent her surging adrenaline to efficient action, using her memory to help her collect materials from the pitch-black office. Setting the stage for an outcome in her favor — several carefully placed erasers, bubble wrap, and a wicked letter opener — she listened for the advance of the intruder up the stairs.

A creak sounded below.

_There's the first stair._ _Should be one more at the second to last step from the top._

She waited, keeping the jittery tension from claiming her nerves and muscles. This one was taking their time.

_Damn, do they know I'm up here?_

She counted her breaths and attempted to clear her mind.

*Creak*

_At the top of the stairs ... now down the hall ..._

_... wait for it ... _

_... wait for it ...  
_

A sound like twenty cap guns firing at once sounded as the intruder stepped into the doorway, crushing the erasers she'd placed over bubble-wrap at the room's entrance. Guessing at the intruder's height, she lanced her heel at the darkness in front of her. A surprised "oof" followed by a gasp told her she'd found the solar plexus. Quickly she closed on her victim, bringing the letter opener to the jugular by feel.

"Move and you'll bleed out in seconds!"

"Ah Jesus, it's you. What are you doing up here, Walker?" There was a growling menace in the voice.

_Oh shit! Casey?_

As one of her fears disappeared, a new one replaced it. "Casey! You scared the hell out of me! A little warning next time. I was just up here looking for that list …"

"I'm going to stop you right there before you lie to me again. You'd have sent me up here to find the list if that's what this was about. You'd rather have the moron annoyed at me than you for going through his sister's stuff."

Sarah remained silent wondered how she kept underestimating Casey. Then it occurred to her that her reticence was as good as an admission of guilt.

"God damn it! Do you see something wrong here? You and your idiot boy toy have been thick as thieves lately and here I am, still playing catch up. How long have we worked together? And now, with all of our lives hanging by little threads, you're going to lie to me? This isn't amateur rogue spy hour, Walker, this is the real fucking deal. Either tell me what's going on … all of it … or you can explain yourself to Beckman and your new partner!"

Sarah gritted her teeth wondering why she was on the defensive so much lately. _Too many secrets, Sarah. _She took a long slow breath, waited for the anger to pass, then spoke. "Okay, I'm sorry, Casey." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm just trying to help Chuck find his father again. If Ellie's had contact with him there might be something up here to point us in the right direction."

Casey matched Sarah's whisper. "The man doesn't want to be found. The moron's just gonna have to get over it."

_That's it. I've had it with this "moron" crap. _"Casey, if you want us to act more like a team, you better stop with the insults. You and I both know Chuck is still playing out of his league but he's doing a damn good job of it."

"Fine. Then just tell me how you justify breaking into someone's house over this."

"Like _you_ ever waited for justification to do something illegal."

Casey breathed out a long rumble and Sarah wished she could see her partner's expression. "You can deflect all you want, Walker, but the fact is, we're still in the middle of a shit sandwich and you're doing extraneous break-ins to find someone who doesn't wanna be found."

"And looking for the list. I think that justifies a breaking in."

"Oh, for chrissake! It's more than just the list. What aren't you telling me? Why's it so important to find Orion?"

Sarah bit her lip, holding back her frustration again. She realized she never should have expected to keep Casey out of the loop and that his anger was completely justified, but why couldn't he see the bind she was in? "I really don't think you want to know."

"Quit it, Walker. Don't pretend like you're protecting me."

"I'm not pretending. You might want to trust me on that. If I tell you, you're going to have to make a decision … and that's a decision I don't think you want to make."

Casey didn't respond immediately then sighed, a deeply tired exhalation.

"Walker, why is it so hard for you to just follow orders? Working with you … it's almost a guarantee, at some point I'll be skirting the edge of treason."

"Look, you may have found you can trust your superiors implicitly but I'm pretty sure, in this case, I can't. I promise you, Casey, we're not working against the interests of the United States ... though I have no idea what the General's intentions are, so I can't say the same for her."

Casey grunted but Sarah couldn't interpret this one. She waited in the dark for him to respond, knowing there was little else she could say.

"Okay … you're my partner. If I can't trust you, I might as well quit. I'm with you on this. Spill it."

Several miles away, a man sat up in his chair, reflexively pressing a pair of headphones to his ears as Sarah explained to Casey the dilemma she and Chuck had recognized with the Intersect technology.

_My ,my, Agent Walker … aren't you full of surprises._

* * *

**A/N:** Uh-oh!_  
_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I just want to thank KateMcK again for her help with the story. It's much appreciated. Also, thank you to those leaving reviews. It's always nice to know if the direction the story is going is entertaining or not.

* * *

_Yogurt! I hate Yogurt!_

Sarah was beginning to wonder if she would ever recover from her acquired aversion to the stuff. The smell of it crept into everything: clothes, fingernails, hair. Not that it wasn't an improvement over the grease bath that was Herr Weinerlicious' fine establishment, but she was beginning to see the hell of retail – actually, just about anything other than food service – in a positive light.

_Just wipe the stupid counter, Walker._

The bell at the door jingled and Sarah looked up hopefully, then sighed … another regular – mother and three-year-old daughter – not Chuck. She reminded herself that Chuck had non-Buy More related responsibilities today.

_Let's see … small Mango-Madness for you and a child sized white chocolate for the little one, right? _

As she swirled the yogurt into the cups, Sarah remembered the rare juvenile snort she'd gotten when she first noticed what the extruded treat resembled.

_And of course sprinkles. No? Okay, no sprinkles this time. Read an article about food coloring, I see. Brownie bit's instead? Ah, yes, so much healthier._

A little more juvenile humor would have been welcome to break through Sarah's cynical grumpiness. When she had returned from the Awesomes' apartment the night before, she'd found Chuck asleep on the couch and Lalita asleep in the car seat next to him. The time for cozy snuggling had passed. When Jayshree came to collect her little girl, Chuck had roused himself to semi-consciousness then grumbled a surly "tired … going to bed" before shuffling off to his bedroom.

Sarah had gone back to her room for the night feeling guilty for rifling Ellie's home and it hadn't improved after a night's sleep. Now, despite Casey's voice in her head admonishing her to get her head straight, all she wanted was to see Chuck and make sure they were still okay. She let her head fall to the counter, scrunching her eyes up.

_Happy birthday, Walker. You're now officially a head-case._

The bell jingled. "Bad day, huh?"

_Chuck?_

She looked up and was nearly accosted by a gorgeous bouquet of gardenias and tuberoses. Behind this was Chuck in a blue button down and grey slacks looking positively sharp. Sarah was speechless.

"Oh god. I should have gotten roses shouldn't I? I went back and forth. I know gardenias are your favorite but …"

"Chuck, they're beautiful!" Sarah slid around the counter, wrapped herself around him, and met his lips with a warm lingering kiss. She figured the mom with the little daughter wouldn't mind too much as she'd just gotten flowers from her guy but the jingle of the bell told her otherwise.

_Oops. Oh well._

When Sarah finally let him go, Chuck blinked. "So I did right?"

Sarah didn't stifle her laugh. "Yes, you did right … but what are these for?"

"What? I need a reason to bring you flowers?"

She pulled him to her again and he brought his lips to her ear to whisper, his warm breath on her ear lobe making her toes dance. "Happy birthday, Sarah Walker … and sorry for being grumpy last night. I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at my dad for getting Ellie into this but I was too tired and grumpy to explain."

Sarah felt almost silly for it but relief at his words washed over her, becoming a liquid heat that ran down her spine, through her hips, and over the backs of her legs. She knew her face hid none of this as Chuck's sheepish expression turned hungry.

_Uh-oh._

Locking her eyes with his, hands on her hips, he started backing her around the counter and towards the storeroom, Sarah's traitor muscles doing nothing to stop him. In fact, she was looking forward to where they were headed except …

"Chuck." She used her remaining willpower to eliminate all but a hint of a waiver in her voice. "Your doctor's appointment …"

He groaned into her shoulder. "I'm always waiting for the damn doctor, why can't she wait for me just for once?"

"Because." Sarah didn't trust herself to say any more as she was itching to christen the storeroom. Chuck groaned again then planted a kiss on her forehead before backing away, shaking. "Rain check?" she said meekly.

"Rain check … on sex in the workplace?" Chuck smiled hopefully.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Wait … you're serious?"

Sarah smiled, cocking her head aside and biting her lip. This had the desired effect. Chuck broke out his flashbulb grin and closed for another kiss. Sarah slipped her hands into his back pockets, giving his behind a squeeze, and broke the kiss to whisper in his ear.

"I just put a flash drive in your back pocket. It has the list of races from your dad. Show it to Beckman but don't tell her that we're looking for him. Now …" She took a shaky breath. "… you're going to have to step back and walk out that door or you're going to be _very_ late for the doctor."

Thirty painfully short seconds later the bell jingled as he left, tossing an "I love you" over his shoulder. Sarah pressed herself against the counter, splaying her hands out on its surface, and letting go a tortured moan. A moment later she had control of herself.

_It's like you're on a roller coaster these days, Walker. You did this to yourself, you know. This is what happens when you fall in love. God it would be so much easier if I knew where this was headed. _

She looked through the front window to see Chuck's Herder driving away. Shaking her head, she forced her thoughts into the background and pulled out her laptop. There were plenty of logistics that needed to be worked out before the Ring meeting happened tonight because everything needed to be perfect. Her reputation was riding on it.

* * *

_It's like they cloned a crowded elevator and grew it into a waiting room. _

Chuck was sitting amid a throng of plague victims and ancient magazines, waiting for his name to be called. With the amount of coughing and nose blowing going on around him he was considering waiting in the hall … and maybe taking a shower in Purell for good measure.

_Should have gotten that flu shot_. The voice of his sister in his head was not sympathetic.

"Bartowski … Charles"

_Oh, thank god. _

Chuck followed the beefy medical assistant down the hallway, pausing to get on the scale – _One-ninety-two … sweet!_ _Four more pounds of muscle, baby!_ – before continuing to an open door. The assistant motioned for him to enter but didn't follow. Chuck went inside, closed the door behind him and had to use all his willpower not to scream like a little girl.

"Jesus, Casey!"

The wall of quasi-humanity waiting behind the door grunted, which could have been interpreted as a laugh. "Ah for chrisake, Bartowski, you knew I was in here. Lay off the caffeine or something."

"Sorry."

"Did you see your tail on the way over?"

"Pretty sure. I stopped to chat with Sarah at the OO and I saw the same Ford Fusion behind me before and after. At least I think it was the same."

"Good bet. If so then they're changing up their rentals, which means they probably don't know we've spotted them yet. That's good for us." Casey nodded toward the examination table. "Grab a seat."

Chuck hopped up on the paper-covered table, thanking all his gods that this wasn't a real doctor's appointment and Casey wasn't wearing a white coat. His sister's insistence that he go in for a follow up on his concussion made the perfect cover though, and they couldn't pass it up.

Casey stuck a wedge under the door to prevent it from being opened then pulled out a laptop and antenna. "Talked to Walker last night … up in your sister's guest bedroom."

Chuck's heart, which had settled back into a normal rhythm, jumped back into his throat.

"We had a fun talk. Seems after all this time you both still can't trust your partner."

"Casey, we were just …"

"… trying to protect me? Uh-huh. Walker said the same thing … more or less. What a load of horseshit. I know exactly what Walker was thinking. When running a conspiracy, you keep it as small as is necessary to accomplish the goal. She knew I'd have my ears up for any news of Orion, regardless if I was in on it or not. There was no point in filling me in. I'm _really_ getting tired of this lack of trust bullshit ..." Casey paused giving Chuck a hard stare. "...but at least she's thinking like an intelligence officer, not a little league coach. Maybe you haven't completely ruined her."

Chuck rolled his eyes, not taking the bait. "Are you going to tell the General?"

"Bartowski, this is a country of laws. As many good men as I've worked with …"

"And women …"

Casey narrowed his eyes, "As many _people_ as I've worked with who follow a code of honor there are many more like Shaw … with no code, no loyalty. I choose not work with those types …" He paused, looking at Chuck. "… when I can help it."

Chuck smiled. Casey was too late in trying to take back the compliment.

Casey continued. "But that doesn't keep the failures and fuck ups from getting promoted upwards. There's too many of them to think at least one wouldn't get control of the imprinting technology at some point. I can't guarantee the General would feel the same."

"So you're with us?"

"I'll help you find your dad, and I'll work with you as far as preventing the use of the technology on the public. Anything more and I might consider it treason."

"That's all we're trying to do, Casey."

The big man gave Chuck a long piercing look then grunted, satisfied. He checked his watch then connected the antenna to the laptop, flipped the computer open, brought up a window and began entering a long string of numbers and letters he'd apparently memorized.

"Twenty seconds. You think you can do Taproot?"

"Of course I can!" Chuck was surprised at being given the opportunity.

"Uh-huh. I guess there's no murderous double-hung windows to fall on you, so you should be alright."

"Son of a …. Casey, I already pulled out one of your teeth, I'm sure there's a pair of pliers around here …"

"Gentlemen!" Though limited to the laptop's tiny speakers, General Beckman's voice brought Chuck to silence like an errant schoolboy. "I was under the impression that this mode of communication was for the exchange of classified information that we're hiding from Shaw, not for me to listen to pissing matches between my officers and trainees! Was I mistaken?"

Chuck looked at his shoes. "No, General."

Casey glared at Chuck. "Sorry, General."

"Good. Now I'm guessing you have a supremely good reason for this meeting when all of our efforts should be directed at what will likely be the most important counterintelligence operation our agencies have ever participated in and not, currently, at Shaw."

Before Casey could open his mouth and take away his opportunity, Chuck spoke up. "General, do you know about …"

"Hold on … are you two in an exam room?"

Casey jumped in. "Yes General. It … worked well as a cover."

Beckman narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

"General, Chuck received a concussion on Saturday night …"

"The intersect received a concussion? How did this happen?"

Chuck had no intention of letting Casey explain. "It has to do with why we're meeting with you, General."

"This should be interesting." Beckman's face didn't suggest whether she believed this.

Casey cut Chuck off before he could continue. "General, are you aware of a CIA operation, Taproot … would have been about nine years …"

"Yes. That operation is highly classified. How did you hear about this?"

Casey was brought up short, apparently not expecting the General to have been read in on a CIA operation. Chuck again took the opportunity to butt in.

"General, one of the former members of Taproot, David Allegheny, showed up in my apartment Saturday night, disguised and uninvited."

Beckman pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "This is the last thing we need right now. Please tell me you captured him."

"Uh, yeah … about that … I did try to intercept him but … he knocked me out."

"He defeated the Intersect? How?" Beckman's eyes bored into him and Chuck fell silent thinking about his drunken stumble into the living room that evening.

Casey interjected. "General, Bartowski flashed on Allegheny's identity at the same time that he was attacked. It may have interfered with his ability to react." He turned an ironic smile toward Chuck.

_Ah crap. Now I owe you._

Casey continued. "The following day, Bartowski and I were followed from our apartment complex: two car team, rentals, possibly using a tracking device. He was able to identify one of the tails, a Timothy McCardle, former CIA now …"

"… a Ring agent, yes, and also a former Taproot operator."

_Well that confirms it._

"We suspected that, General. Our tails broke off later, it turned out, to provide security for a team that was transferring crates from the Ring storage unit we've been watching in Pasadena. Bartowski identified a Weizhe "Wager" Liang, Brent Kunze, and Trent Sauer present with Allegheny at the unit. We guessed they were all Taproot as well."

Beckman sighed, nodding her tightly coiffed twist. "I suppose it isn't surprising. All the members from that mess simultaneously slipped their parole thirteen months ago. It's likely they're all involved. You're going to tell me you know something about the contents of those crates or where they were headed, correct?"

"Um … we weren't able to get that information." Casey gave Chuck another "you owe me" smile. "There was too much security."

_Great, wonder what this is gonna cost._ "General, I know it's classified but can you at least tell us if Taproot has any connection to Shaw."

The General glared at Chuck as if he'd asked to see her undies. "You're right. It _is_ classified, and I'm not the one to make a decision as to what the CIA discloses unless it's directly related to your operations!" She paused, sighing deeply again, then leaned forward in her chair. "However … I can give you some details that won't compromise anything ongoing and may be relevant."

Chuck and Casey simultaneously leaned towards the monitor.

"Seven years ago operation Taproot ended … in fact it was terminated before it had achieved its goals and several supervisory officers lost their jobs. It turned out that, except for one member, the entire team was involved in appropriating Company resources for an … entrepreneurial venture. The details would compromise a few ongoing operations but let me just say the scale and nature of it were … troubling."

Casey cut in. "You said all but one. Was there a whistleblower?"

"Yes … Evelyn Shaw."

Chuck felt gooseflesh crawl across his arms, up his back.

"All eight except for Evelyn were charged. There were prison sentences, massive property seizures. It was a huge mess and all the team members were ruined. And it didn't go well for Eve either. There were several unjustified accusations – or at least her husband thought they were – that she was involved but just got scared and turned on the rest of the team. And there were darker suggestions."

"General, is this all coming from Shaw?" Casey was openly skeptical.

"Yes, but I have reason to believe him. Shaw strongly suspects that the former members of Taproot were responsible for Evelyn's murder in 2007 … and he wasn't the only one to think so. Langston made an off-hand mention of an operations officer's murder and the details make me certain he was talking about Evelyn. In any case, she was killed not more than a month and a half after release of the first three members from prison. Shaw was the first to push for an investigation. And there was one too … FBI … all quiet to avoid public embarrassment for the agency. That tells you how much everyone was certain that Evelyn's team was involved."

"So what happened? Did they get pinned for Eve's murder?" Chuck's head was swimming with conspiracies.

"The investigation did turn up a murder suspect … but it wasn't anyone from Taproot. Apparently Evelyn had been meeting with a man from the CIA inspector general's office who she'd met when she originally blew the whistle on her team. Supposedly the man felt they'd begun a relationship which was progressing towards a sexual one and became angry when Evelyn turned him away. The story was that he murdered her out of frustration and jealousy."

"Sounds like they found their scapegoat."

"The officer in question was the one that confessed the entire story." Beckman didn't sound like she believed it either. "In any case, Shaw is convinced it was someone from Taproot or one of their associates. If these people are back together and tailing you, then they could be looking for Shaw. It's not entirely unthinkable that he would misuse government resources for some revenge scenario. They might be working to preempt that or the Ring may be using this motivation to get them to go after Shaw."

Casey spoke under his breath, shaking his head. "This just gets better and better."

"Colonel, Taproot is a distraction. You have one function in the next few days and that is identifying the Ring Elders. Individual cells can be dealt with later. I will get another team following up on Taproot in place by Wednesday. In the meantime, watch your backs but don't forget your priorities. Is there anything else? Okay, good …"

"Actually General …" The patience in the expression Beckman turned on Chuck could be measured in milliseconds. "We found a list of upcoming congressional elections, both house and senate, that my father gave Ellie … my sister… to follow. I figured, because it was Orion related you would want …"

"What races? Which ones did he want her to follow?" Beckman's demeanor had changed from dismissive to frighteningly intent in a heartbeat.

_Did I miss something?_ "The list is on here." Chuck held up the flash drive Sarah had given him. At the command of Beckman's impatient stare he inserted the drive into the laptop and minimized the window with the image of the General in it, wincing as if he'd committed some kind of faux pas. He pulled up the jpeg Sarah had taken and read off the names.

After Chuck had finished, Beckman remained silent a moment then, "Thank you, Bartowski. Let me know if there are any other developments regarding these elections and your father. Now, I just remembered that I should mention you'll be meeting a new tech in Castle tonight who will be working with you on the upcoming Ring operation. She only has clearance for that, not the rest of operation Bartowski, so visitor protocol applies. Now, Chuck, I believe you need to be at work. Casey, can I speak with you privately for a moment."

_Uh-oh. This isn't good?_

Casey waited till Chuck had closed the door behind him and his footsteps had retreated down the hall. He nodded to the General.

"Casey, if you pick up anything else about Orion and these elections I want you to bring it to me directly; don't tell Bartowski. The incumbents in all of those races are currently on the House and Senate Intelligence and Appropriations committees including the chairman of each."

"Damn!"

"Yes, damn. More worrisome is that we've found artifacts in the campaign commercials of some of the challengers that suggest someone is testing a form of the imprinting technology. No full messages yet but we'll be monitoring all day until the advertising blackout tomorrow."

Casey felt the flashing of a deep and furious anger in his belly, suppressing it by gritting his teeth. "Tampering with elections? You don't think Orion would be involved with that filth? " He nearly spat out the last word.

"Colonel, I make no assumptions. Just keep your eyes open."

"Yes, General." The monitor went blank and Casey was left with an acid ball of hatred in his stomach, all the worse for not having a target. He was not willing to believe the General's implication.

* * *

"Bartowski, this shouldn't be so hard for you to understand." Chuck and Casey were making the familiar trek from the Buy More to the OO, having finished their half days at work. "I mean, you were in a fraternity, weren't you. How'd you get in?"

"Well, let's see … we all had to maintain a 3.85 GPA along with doing regular community service …"

"Oh Jesus H! You were in a _nerd_ fraternity? Oh that's just priceless. That means Bryce was in a nerd fraternity!" Casey stopped for a moment, taken by a fit of grunts, which might have been laughter. "That poor bastard. Let me guess … he was the only one who wasn't a virgin."

"Hey now! I believe you remember my ex, Jill."

"Hmmph. Must have been something wrong with that girl's head." Casey pushed open the door to the OO setting the bell to jingling. "Anyway, what I'm trying to teach you is a lesson that ninety percent of human males have learned by the time they're thirteen. If someone calls you a world class spunk vacuum, then how do you respond?" He paused a moment then continued when Chuck said nothing. "You say something like, 'That's funny, I told your mom the same thing last night'."

Sarah's head snapped up at the words "spunk vacuum" and "your mom", then she rolled her eyes and began packing her computer into its case.

"You see, Bartowski, the thing you should have learned in school was that you have to give as good as you get, otherwise they just pile on."

Chuck touched the button that opened the panel on the freezer and leaned down to have his retina scanned. "You know, Casey, I had some different concerns when I was in school. I had to keep social services from finding out we were abandoned and taking me away to a foster home, I had to help my sister scrounge enough money to keep us fed, and I had to do it all while getting good grades in school so I could get a scholarship to college and not be a burger flipper when I grew up. I guess I just missed out on the all important insult generating part of my education."

Casey gave an annoyed grunt. "Damn it, Bartowski, that's not how you do it at all. That just makes me look like an asshole."

Chuck stopped and turned to face Casey, arching an eyebrow. As he turned back and continued down the stairs, Chuck heard Sarah snicker quietly behind him. _Sorry man, but you said "give as good as you get."_

He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw a small red headed figure hiding behind a large laptop at the conference table, staccato bursts of keystrokes emanating from the same direction. He cleared his throat and a face popped into view from behind the screen, a face that caused Chuck's jaw to fall slack and Sarah to mutter disbelief beside him.

Shaw wandered over from the lab. "Team, I'd like you to meet our newest member for the next few days … but ... it looks like you already know each other."

Chuck's voice came out in a squeak. "Fabrice?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Once again, thanks to the wonderful KateMcK. More than one oversight in this chapter was avoided due to her help. Any residual typos are my fault since I meddle with the text obsessively up to the minute I post (and often times after as well).

**A/N:** Reading through 'Fates' for the first time I noticed a deficiency in my story. The wonderful Frea is very good at giving time and location before each section. Considering that this story is happening in a very compressed time period I figure I should make up for my oversight by giving a time line up to this point.

Thursday evening/Friday morning (Oct 28/29th, 2010): Sarah has her mission, placing the surveillance equipment to capture the Ring meeting.

Friday evening: Sarah and Chuck go on a date

Saturday evening (Oct 30th): The team does the tag and release on Shaw then Sarah and Chuck go to the Halloween party. Later Chuck gets thumped, goes to the hospital, then comes home to hear Sarah confess that her father can't choose baby names to save his life.

Sunday afternoon (Oct 31st): Ellie and Sarah have spa time while the boys go out to get a burger and spy on some spies.

Sunday evening: Chuck and Sarah babysit with the brief assistance of the baby whisperer then Sarah searches the home of the Awesomes.

Monday morning (Nov 1st): Chuck is a good boyfriend then afterward goes to see the "doctor".

Monday evening: The team meets a new member and ... well ... here we are. Enjoy!

* * *

_Well this is awkward_.

Fabrice stared, appearing frozen and acutely conscious of the three people gaping at her. Sarah took in the physical details about the girl, considering the possible angles of this unlikely coincidence. In shimmery blue blouse and grey pinstripe business casual, her tattoos and bruises well covered, Morgan's new girlfirend seemed like a teenager wearing a uniform for a summer job.

Fabrice finally found her voice. "Chuck … Sarah? You … work for the Company?"

The little redhead's genuine shock filled in the last piece of the puzzle and Sarah relaxed. Fabrice was exactly who she'd seemed to be at the party, a geeky punk without alternate agendas. She just happened to have skills that the Company found useful. Still, her connection with Morgan made the situation delicate. Sarah answered before Chuck could respond, hoping he would follow her lead. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. We do analysis of intelligence networks."

"You guys are analysts? Really? Why the cover … all the secrecy? And this crazy bunker?"

Chuck answered, to Sarah's relief, sounding confident. "It's classified. All I can say is that we occasionally work in the field." His tone shifted, taking on an edge. "But I should ask you the same question. Why the secrecy?" Sarah caught the distrust in his voice, smiling at his fierce loyalty to the bearded one.

"Umm …" Fabrice looked at her hands. "… the crowd I usually hang with … they don't exactly think highly of the CIA. I just got used to telling people I work for a small start-up. I get invited to a lot more parties that way."

Chuck smiled, visibly unwinding. "Well, it's probably good you didn't tell Morgan … for a completely different reason. If he knew you worked for the CIA, let me just say, the marathon question-and-answer session alone would take days." He looked at Sarah, mimicking Morgan's rapid-fire delivery. "So, you're eating breakfast and a team of bad guys breaks into your house. You have Fruit Loops, orange juice, and a spoon. How do you defeat your enemy?"

Sarah joined Fabrice, laughing at Chuck's rendition and, just like that, the awkwardness was defused.

Casey buried his nose in a laptop at the end of the table while Chuck sat down opposite the redhead, querying her about her involvement in the operation. Sarah attempted to follow her answers but at the mention of network theory, scale-free systems, vertices, nodes and hubs, she tuned out, preferring to pace the room. She trusted Chuck to give her a jargon-filtered version later and was satisfied for the moment to know that it involved predicting key figures within the Ring. Normally she didn't mind sailing into academic waters but at the moment her stomach was all butterflies with her handiwork on the line. Tonight they would look behind the curtain and see the head of the beast but only if she had done her job right.

To suppress her nerves, Sarah let her mind wander freely, trying to imagine what kind of figures would be behind this grand conspiracy. There was certainly a restricted membership in that club. They would be people with deep influence in intelligence circles, the ability to play a bureaucracy like an instrument, and of course the most important ingredient: that pharoanic conviction in their special insight into the world. They always believed they had the sole recipe to Utopia … that or they merely wanted themselves and a few chosen followers to be the last ones standing when the apocalypse came. While this almost religious belief in their sacrosanct wisdom was the drug they sold to build their armies, the hubris and paranoia that came with it always destroyed the illusion of their own divinity. Sarah's tribulations in the aftermath of Graham's private intelligence army had taught her that in spades.

She studied Shaw as he attempted to pass the wait pre-filling some of the more mind numbing reports. What had set him on his own personal journey towards fascism? Was it the death of his wife? Sarah could sympathize there. She had yet to face how she would react if ... Her mind wouldn't even complete the thought. Of their own accord, her eyes strayed back to the source of all that anxiety, his genial grin bringing a smile to her lips. Her ears perked up a moment later as she heard the conversation shift to relationship talk.

Fabrice was speaking through a fairly admirable flush. "I don't want to think it to death this early but … I really like him. There's something about Morgan …"

"It's the beard, huh?"

Sarah was about to snicker but held it back when she saw the girl's blush deepen.

_How about that? To each their own, I guess._

Chuck continued. "No … I get it. You don't want to have big expectations too early. Don't want to crush something good before it's had a chance to grow. You just enjoy the moments you have together and let it come naturally." Chuck turned to Sarah, nothing but warmth and invitation in his expression.

Sarah smiled back but felt none of it. _What does _that_ mean? Am I crushing us because I know you're the one? Why can't I read you?_

Furthering her confusion, he took her hand pulling on her until she was standing between his knees, looking down at his expression of unadulterated love. She heard an indrawn breath from across the table. "You two really _are_ together. It's not a cover, is it?"

Chuck winked at Sarah. "Nope. We're an "us" as of a few days ago."

Before she could stop it, Sarah's gaze flitted to the hunched figure of Shaw who remained absorbed in busywork. As it had been the last few days, he didn't seem the slightest bit interested in her relationship with Chuck. Either he had an unfailing poker face or their relationship had completely failed to interrupt his plans. Neither possibility helped her anxiety.

Fabrice's voice brought her back to the conversation. "Must be nice, not having to hide your work from the one you're with. Although, isn't it weird being partners and dating at the same time?"

Casey grumbled from across the table, his eyes on his laptop. "Walker never let that stop her."

Sarah jerked her head in Casey's direction, staring daggers into his skull but was surprised when he met her glare with an uncharacteristic hint of apology in his eyes.

Fabrice either missed or ignored the interplay. "Well you and Chuck are really cute, Sarah. Now what about you John? You have anyone to go home to?"

Sarah flinched at Casey's sneer, but Fabrice's innocent gaze killed his retort. He looked back at his laptop, responding with a rumble so low, Sarah nearly missed it. "Sometimes, following your path means you leave people behind."

All three looked at Casey with overt curiosity but the big man's stony expression cut off further inquiry. From the corner of her eye, Sarah caught Shaw, also regarding Casey intently. She turned towards him and his eyes flicked back to his paper work but not in time to cover the look of open appraisal, maybe even respect on his features.

_Interesting. Should I believe you have some interest in human emotions buried in that sociopathic head of yours._

Disconcertingly he looked up from his paperwork giving her what, from anyone else, would be considered a genuine smile. He straightened his papers, tapping them against the desk then stood up and walked to the mini fridge. To the complete surprise of everyone at the table, he pulled out a bottle of champagne then grabbed a stack of clear plastic cups from a bag next to the fridge.

He spoke to the room as he popped the cork and began pouring. "Since we won't have time later I want to congratulate you all on what has been a year's effort but which seems like a lifetime accomplishment. Though the rest of the country will always remain unaware, tonight our little team will make history in intelligence circles. You should all be proud of that."

Sarah took the cup offered, wondering what the little speech was about. Most of what they'd done that year was fight skirmishes that had little impact on the final outcome of the war. The only mission which had led to tonight's operation depended entirely on Shaw's own mysterious source of intel to give them location of the Elder's meeting and the specs on the building and it's security. The rest of the team had done the easy part … well … the easier part.

She glanced down at her cup of slowly fizzing liquid and felt a prickle of apprehension crawl up her spine. She held it up in salute as Shaw toasted their success but hesitated to drink until he had downed his own, even waiting for his adam's apple to bob.

_Paranoia, Sarah. He's not going to poison you until he has everything he needs._

Even so, she sipped at the liquid slowly, tasting for any hint of unusual bitterness, a lasting tingle. She noticed Casey and Chuck taking slow unenthusiastic sips as well and felt a little less silly.

The small talk had ended with Shaw's toast and everyone turned to the front of the room. Chuck tapped a few keys on his laptop and the images of a conference room from several angles appeared on the monitor. Chuck had added a little countdown clock in the corner of the screen and he gave a quick 'that was my idea' smile to the table.

The clock showed there were twenty minutes until the meeting would begin. Tension in the room built as they expected the imminent arrival of the first participants. The familiar feeling of watching seconds stretch into minutes and minutes into eons settled over Sarah. Her fingers began to fidget, first with her cup, then a paper clip, then twirling a pen between her fingers. Casey's scowl halted the movement of her hands and her toes began to dance in compensation.

_Sixteen minutes till. Someone should be showing up by now. Is something wrong?_

Though the mix-up with the motion detectors and arrival of that carpeting crew had been unexpected, Sarah had still felt confident she'd committed no errors during her mission. Now she agonized over each little detail.

_Did I uncover the splices when I pulled out the quick releases? Oh god! What if security went up into the crawl space?_

Her heart began to hammer as she considered the possibility. She looked up at the screen. Twelve minutes.

_Maybe the Ring leadership isn't very punctual. No need to panic, Walker._

In fact, it occurred to her that these people had little reason to trust each other. They were all working outside the law and, therefore, couldn't depend on it to protect them from the others. Sarah remembered frequenting the Penguin Encounter at Sea World when she was Jenny Burton, living in San Diego. There was a video on a loop there that always showed crowds of the awkward birds waiting to jump into the ocean, none wanting to be the first one picked off by an orca or leopard seal. Maybe it was the same with Ring Elders. Maybe they'd all show at once in a big rush. This caused her to suppress a snicker as she imagined them waddling into the room _en masse_.

She looked at the clock again. Five minutes. Something was definitely wrong, penguins or not. She could sense that the others knew it by the way they furtively looked at her, not saying anything. Ignoring her pride, Sarah stood up and began pacing behind the conference table.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it! I don't fail!_

Shaw got up as well. "Alright, I'm off to the head. Stay on the feeds no matter how late it gets."

As he stalked off, Sarah noticed Chuck regarding her with caution. She could see the wheels turning in his head: _how do I approach this one?_ It only made her more angry, reminding her how unprofessional she was being, showing this much frustration.

Casey spoke up then. "Maybe they always get to meetings late."

Sarah turned away, knowing the lie for what it was. Of course they would show up on time.

"Um … guys."

All three whirled at the sound of Fabrice's voice. There was movement on the monitor. A single man, probably in his late fifties/early sixties, wearing a grey suit, had entered the conference room and was walking to the head of the table with an exaggeratedly deliberate step. He reached a chair and sat carefully, resting his folded hands on the table in front of him. Chuck flipped through the feeds until he had the best angle and used a digital zoom to magnify the mystery man's features.

"Anything?" Sarah said this to Fabrice who had activated the facial recognition program, but quickly looked at Chuck. He gave a brief shake of his head and a slight hunch of his shoulders.

After a few minutes with everyone staring at her, Fabrice surfaced from her laptop with an apologetic expression. "Nothing. I checked all the intelligence and law enforcement databases as well as some commercial ones. I'm sorry."

Again there was movement on the screen. The man had straightened up, eyebrows flying up his forehead, his index finger raised. It was a perfect execution of a mime remembering something. He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out something metallic which he placed on the table in front of him. It was an etched metal nameplate, the words "Ned Gihrrer" in black against brushed nickel.

"Fuck," Sarah whispered, almost to herself.

Casey turned to Fabrice. "Search that name."

"Already on it."

He looked at Chuck who gave another shake of his head.

"Fuck," Sarah said a little louder.

Chuck looked at her, his face folding into a questioning frown. At that moment, Shaw re-entered the room, taking in the face on the monitor.

"Excellent! Do we have anything on him?"

Fabrice looked up again, the same shy apology. "I can't find that name anywhere. Gihrrer doesn't even show up in Google."

"That doesn't make any sense, there has to be …"

"Fuck!"

Sarah slammed her hand down on the table causing everyone to jump, sitting or standing. All eyes turned her way and even Casey was taken aback by the uncharacteristic outburst.

Sarah continued, her words clipped as she tried to control her anger. "There is no Ned Gihrrer. They're fucking laughing at us! It's an anagram."

From across the table Chuck swore and all eyes turned to him.

"Red Herring."

* * *

The light swallowing darkness of a beach at night was frightening to some but not to Chuck. The crashing of the waves, no visual cues to tell of their size and power, was a justifiable reason for fear in all actuality, but for him the thunder and black oblivion usually just washed away his worries. Tonight, however, his worries remained intact. He was waiting at his car, parked on the side of the road, intently watching a spot in the blackness.

He knew she was sitting out there on the sand even if, at the moment, he couldn't see her. His headlights had illuminated the hunched little figure as he'd turned off the highway and pulled up behind her Porsche. There was no use going to her yet. She was just as stubborn as a Bartowski, requiring time to thoroughly beat herself up before she was willing to listen to reason. He'd thanked the stars he had learned that about her, as she could be a scary minefield when angry at herself. So, he waited on the hood of his car, shivering in the early November breeze, letting her self-flagellation run its course while his mind wandered.

_How did they know? It couldn't be Sarah's fault. I know she's not perfect but she's as close as it gets. If she said the operation went well, then it did. On the other hand, what about that damn slippery robot? Fucking Shaw._

Chuck shook his head realizing Shaw couldn't be the cause of every bad thing that happened. He had just as much desire to see the Ring ended as the rest of the team … just, in his case, it was a matter of eliminating the competition. Still, Chuck's mind was much happier to believe Shaw was involved rather than that Sarah had screwed up.

_What about Beckman?_

He shook his head again. The Ring was a threat to her job and power, not even considering her deep seated patriotism.

_Okay, how about Fabrice? Oh good lord, idiot! Now you're just casting about in the dark. She had no idea she would be working on this until Shaw briefed her at Castle. Brrr, it's friggin' cold._ Chuck was pulled out of his thoughts as his teeth involuntarily began to chatter.

_Alright, sweetie, if I'm cold you must be freezing. You're done here._

He pulled a blanket from the trunk of his Herder, which he kept for impromptu picnics, then headed out in the direction of his lovely black cloud. She was, thankfully, right where he remembered, since he didn't have a flashlight to go searching. From the tense, unmoving set of her body as he approached, he could tell two things: one, she knew it was him, and two, she was still pissed.

He sat down behind her, enfolding her in his limbs and wrapping the blanket around her knees and elbows. She remained stiff and unyielding in his arms but didn't push him away, so he sat silently, waiting. Finally, either because of the cold or exhaustion, she leaned back against him, collapsing into his warmth. Still he waited, letting her speak when she was ready.

"Didn't take you long to find my car. You knew I'd be here?"

Chuck nodded against her hair.

"But it did take you a while to come out here. Afraid of the scary, pissed girlfriend?"

Chuck snickered, Sarah's body bouncing against him. "I've had some experience with scary, pissed women." He paused, kissing her hair. "I wanted to know that you were okay but I also figured you needed some time to yourself."

"Chuck, in some ways it's kinda nice I'm not your first girlfriend. You've had some training." A moment later she shook her head, emitting a single snort. Chuck wondered if she'd thought the same thing he had. Part of that training had involved Jill Roberts.

They lapsed into silence for several minutes, their only communication a shiver from Sarah and Chuck wrapping her more tightly with the blanket. Finally she spoke, her voice just audible above the crash and sizzle of the surf.

"I can't let it go, you know."

Chuck remained silent, listening.

"Regardless of whether I screwed up or someone else did or if it was just a fluke … getting the faces of those elders was my responsibility."

This he responded to. "I know. _That, _I get. Blame doesn't get anything done, only hard work does." Sarah nodded and Chuck paused, wondering if she'd listen to the next part. "You know, we talk a lotta good talk about the two of us being a team but we don't always seem to get it. It's not _your _responsibility, sweetie. It's _our_s."

She didn't respond immediately, voice or body, and Chuck wondered if he'd just poked the bear with a stick. Then she turned her head, laying her cheek on his bicep and taking his hand in hers. He squeezed her against him and felt her sigh. A moment later she turned in his arms, getting to her knees, holding his face in her hands.

She seemed ready to say something, emotions swimming across her features, just barely tangible now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark. Then he saw the white flash of her teeth followed by the surprisingly cold wetness of her wind-blown lips on his. She stood up, taking his hand, pulling him after her, leading him back across the sand. Before they parted to their respective cars, a lingering kiss with more than a little heat answered the question before it was asked. Casa Bartowski was their destination for the night.

* * *

**A/N:** I promise this isn't 'Lost'. At some point soon, most of the mysteries will be resolved.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Sorry this update has taken so long. Like chapter 8 I had little of this chapter planned out other than a few elements that had to happen in it so it took a little longer to write. In addition I have the pesky situation of trying to get a grant to fund the next two years of my life in research. The situation hasn't improved yet but at least the next chapter is mostly planned out (thus hopefully quicker in coming). In any case, read on and enjoy (hopefully).

* * *

_I wonder if James Bond ever had to do his own laundry._

Chuck sighed, picking dried-on pieces of what had probably been a receipt left in a jeans pocket out of his only cable knit sweater. It was far from the first time he had mused on the daily juxtaposition of intrigue and domesticity that had become his life but, after three years, it still hadn't lost its novelty. He heard a soft disapproving cluck from the laundry room's only other occupant.

_Good lord, that woman must do laundry for a football team or something._

Mrs. Williamson had become a fixture in El Cabrillo's laundry room, commandeering two of the four washers, it seemed, at any time of day. Chuck wondered if she might not have a cot and a toothbrush stashed somewhere behind one of the washers. The annoying part, he felt, was that she always seemed to judge him on how he did his laundry, softly tut-tutting when he would dump everything in the washer —darks, lights, whatever — pour soap on top, push in the quarters and walk away. Sighing, he pulled another handful of underwear from the drier, feeling overly scrutinized.

_Hi-oh! These aren't mine! How are these even underwear? It's like some kind of bizarre doily._

Chuck had plucked something rather negligible and lacy from the pile, something that Sarah had filled out quite nicely only a few nights before.

_Oh God._

Mrs. Williamson had caught the dreamy smile on his face as he clutched the lacy thong in his fist. She sniffed at him in disgust causing him to quickly shove the flimsy material into his basket, face growing hot.

_Jeez, woman! All you do is judge, judge, judge. _

His flush didn't disappear as he pulled the next article of clothing from the drier: his shirt from The Date, sans buttons thanks to Sarah. He'd been about to toss it in the trash that morning when Sarah had stopped him.

"Hey, don't throw that out. I like that shirt on you."

"Could've fooled me."

"Ha! Cute. Why don't you let me fix it?"

"Fix it? Wait, Sarah Walker sews buttons? I'm sorry, Sweetie … you're amazing, but there's no way I'm gonna believe you sew buttons."

"I'm just full of surprises."

"Uh-huh. While we're on the subject, how exactly did you make that Halloween costume from the other night? Your room's too small to hide a sewing machine and I know Castle doesn't have one."

Sarah only raised her eyebrows, smiling.

"Just full of surprises?" Chuck wrapped his arms around her middle, resting his hands in the small of her back.

"Actually, there's this seamstress …"

"Aha! I knew it."

"… who let's me use her sewing machine during off hours for a small fee."

"Oh … so you really did make it yourself?"

"Of course. What? You think I'd lie about that?" She seemed offended by the prospect.

Chuck had no interest in bringing back the grumpiness of the previous night. "Sorry. I shouldn't doubt you. It's just ... sewing doesn't seem like a Sarah skill."

Sarah just smiled again.

"Seriously, is there a homemaking course in CIA training?"

"If you really want to know ... people like my father, when they're running short cons, like to sew extra pockets and slips into their clothes ... like magicians. So I learned that part of the family trade. And it turns out that sewing is a useful skill for an operations-heavy intelligence officer for similar reasons. I never trust a tech to do what I can do myself."

"Anyway, I was very impressed ... actually, kinda blown away that you'd do that for me … I mean, I'm assuming you did that for me."

"Well, you assume too much. I did it for Morgan." She rolled her eyes. "Of course I did it for you." Their lips had been slowly gravitating towards each other and finally became too close not to kiss.

After some time, Chuck lazily broke it off, his eyes half closed. "You really are full of surprises. You kick ass and somehow you can still pull off domestic."

Sarah tensed in his arms. "Domestic? Just because I can sew buttons that doesn't make me June Cleaver."

"Whoa, sweetie, I don't want June Cleaver. I want Sarah Walker." Sarah held him with a hard stare a moment longer, then smiled. One corner of Chuck's mouth ticked upward. "Besides, June Cleaver was nowhere near as hot as you. Ow! Kidding! I mean, you _are_ way hotter than June Cleaver but … Ow! Jeez woman. Look, all I'm trying to say is, it's nice to know that if we live together we can still split up the chores."

At this, Sarah's mouth closed with a click of her teeth and her eyebrows flew up her forehead. Chuck could feel quick heat on his face as he realized what he'd said. _Living together?_ _Shit, Bartowski, what happened to slow and steady? Look at her. You just scared the bejeezus out of her._ Aloud he said, "I mean … not that we're at the point where we would … it's just academic … because we've only been dating a few mo … days … _days_! And it's … I don't even know why I brought it up …"

"Chuck …" Sarah put her hand on his chest, halting further rambling.

_Oh god, here it comes._

"… I …"

At that moment they heard a knock from the front door and then Ellie's voice, "Sarah? You ready to go?"

"Just a minute," Sarah shouted. She kept her eyes on Chuck, her lips pressed together in frustration, then, "I'm driving Ellie to work since her car's in the shop, then I'm probably going to be buried at Castle all day trying to figure out what happened. I'll see you later tonight." Her eyes lingered a moment longer giving the unspoken message: "We'll talk then". Then she leaned in for a quick kiss goodbye and whipped down the hallway to the living room.

From the bedroom, Chuck heard his sister say, "Ready to go? Oh, hey, I brought this for you. Have you …" before being cut off by Sarah, clearing her throat loudly.

Now in the laundry room Chuck shook his head, wondering what that had been about. He wasn't so narcissistic to think that everything was all about him but it still made him vaguely uneasy that his sister and girlfriend were close enough to be keeping secrets. He knew the two had had a true heart to heart during their spa trip, even going so far as to talk about Sarah's past as a criminal. He couldn't even guess what other things might have been discussed. Even worse, he imagined what they'd make of his "living together" comment. His sister had always been sympathetic to his case before, but now that she and Sarah were friends …

"Humph!"

It was a raspy, sardonic rumble from the back of his throat, which so perfectly mimicked Casey's most common expression that he clapped his hands over his mouth, emitting a startled squeak. Mrs. Williamson looked up from her magazine, examining him over her glasses, one eyebrow ticking upward before she went back to reading.

_Hey, I didn't even ask for your input._ _Jeez …_ _judge, judge, judge._

* * *

_Mmmmm. The man sure is good with his hands._

Sitting at a desk one floor below the OO, Sarah's focus had strayed to a Buy More surveillance feed in the corner of her screen showing Chuck as he worked on a few small repairs at the Nerd Herd desk. Without thinking she maximized the window, blotting out the video she'd been scanning. His long skilled fingers deftly removed a panel off a small net book and carefully dropped tiny screws into a baggie. He stopped his work, his head swiveling, doing a periodic scan of the store as Sarah had taught him. This gave her a warm glow of pride in her middle at how well he adhered to the lessons she'd been teaching him. And she felt something more than pride when her eyes ran over the emerging definition in his arms.

_It's just not fair how easy it is for men._

Sarah had always felt a modest satisfaction in her exercise discipline, which had kept her body toned for fighting readiness, but in only a few months of their training together, Chuck's upper body strength had far surpassed hers. Of course this only drove her to work harder so that, despite the Intersect and his superior strength, she still was able to defeat him when sparring, owing to her experience and speed. She had been so worried when Chuck first got the Intersect 2.0 that she would become irrelevant to him with his database of skill sets, but as time had gone on she realized how much she had yet to teach him.

_Now, if I could only get you tell me what you want from me._

Sarah's jaw clenched, the only outward sign of her frustration. She'd let her concentration wander back to the morning's conversation far too many times since she'd sat down to work only two hours before. Her lack of focus was becoming maddening, at some point even dangerous.

_If you had any idea how much you ruin my discipline, would you be smug about it?_ She was thoughtful a moment then smiled, giving her head a barely perceptible shake. _He'd be smug all of two seconds before agonizing to death over causing me any distress._

Sarah looked up to see Shaw watching her and suppressed a shudder.

"Looks like you've got a lot on your mind, Walker. Maybe some things that don't involve the Ring Elders? Want to talk about it?"

Sarah stilled her expression before her eyes could narrow and simply said, "I'm good. Just trying a little non-linear thinking." _Why do you care? You worried about something, Shaw?_ This time her eyes did narrow.

She went back to her analysis of surveillance feeds from the building where the Ring meet hadn't happened. Casey had used a connection to get a copy from the security office several hours earlier that morning; it wasn't a problem now if the Ring discovered the building was being investigated. She was comparing footage from the building's entrance, Sherridan's offices, the crawl space, and the conference room, before and after her infiltration. So far she had yet to detect any behavior in security, janitorial, or maintenance personnel which was inconsistent with the months of archival footage that were still on file.

_How did they know we were waiting? It's almost like …_ Sarah schooled her features before her suspicion could register on her face. _That's just speculation, Walker … but it would make things interesting. _She decided it was time to head for the one of the two bathrooms in Castle that she had reserved for herself — as far as she knew the boys were able to clean up after themselves but she wasn't taking any chances — where she could think without the distraction of the traitor's creepy gaze.

She was about to get up when she noticed movement on her screen. Chuck had shot up in his chair, rigidly alert. As she watched, his eyes rolled slightly and began the side-to-side tick that told her he was flashing. This continued for several seconds longer than a normal flash before he was released. She picked up her phone, anticipating his call but rather than reaching for his iPhone …

_Oh shit! Where's he going?_

He had vaulted the Nerd Herd desk and disappeared off the screen in one fluid movement. Frantically, Sarah flipped through the Buy More feeds, finding the angle from the entrance just in time to see Chuck disappear out the bottom of the frame. She quickly toggled the parking lot surveillance and spotted Chuck as well as a number of men running towards the Underpants Etc. She didn't need to see faces to know those men.

_Chuck, no. No, no, no!_

* * *

It was supposed to be another boring day at the Buy More. Improbable events might have become Chuck's new normal but at least nerd herding had been a relatively safe occupation the last few months. He'd settled in for some simple mid-day repairs, letting the peace of his mundane routine blot out his anxieties. That peace had died in an instant when he'd flashed and his father's face had simultaneously appeared on every TV screen in the Buy More. It had felt almost like when he'd downloaded the Intersect, but rather than a whirl of data he'd received a short video of his father speaking in front of what looked like a rack of boxer shorts, the distinct full moon of the Underpants Etc. logo in the background. He'd heard his father's words in his head.

"Find me, Chuck. I need to talk to you."

Chuck could have, maybe should have, walked out of the Buy More calmly, not attracting attention, but the second he'd realized his father was a parking lot away his mind had gone directly to Shaw as well as their ever present Ring surveillance. The same surveillance which had yet to bother finding out why two CIA officers and an NSA agent kept disappearing into the OO after hours. It was like they were waiting for …

_Dad!_

Chuck had leapt over the Nerd Herd desk without a second thought and sprinted for the exit. Now, seeing several figures streaking towards his same destination, at least one of which was a member of Taproot, he knew he'd been right to worry. He was so focused on reaching his dad first first he completely missed the darting figure to his left until it had crashed into him and drug him around the side of the Buy More. The Intersect activated and Chuck ripped himself from the assailants grasp, but before he could square off to fight his arms fell to his sides.

"Dad?"

"Sorry, Chuck. I needed the distraction to get you away from all your surveillance. You're surrounded by a lot of bad people you know."

"I know! That's why you shouldn't be here. Holy crap Dad!"

"I need to talk to you. I only just found out that you know Shaw is dirty … but I don't understand why you're taking so many risks continuing to work with him while investigating him. I mean ... after Winbaugh … you know never mind. I'm just happy I don't have to keep Ellie involved in this anymore."

"Jesus! She never should have been involved in the first place. Do you know how hard I've worked to keep her away from this stuff? And now you bring her into it? Why would you do that?"

"Son, do you know what it is that Shaw and the Ring are trying to accomplish? Everyone's at risk whether they're part of this or not."

"I know that, but you should have come to Sarah, Casey, and me first."

"Yeah, in hindsight that's obvious, but I didn't know whether you knew about Shaw … you know what, we don't have time to argue about this. You need to hear a few things very quickly before your surveillance realizes I'm not in the store." He took a deep breath then modulated his voice to something approaching calm. "Starting about twelve years ago I began sending viruses to the servers of several media outlets …"

"Oh no. I don't think I want to know this."

"Just hear me out. Viruses … for media outlets ... I sent them all around the country, programmed to do surveillance for a specific type of encoding in video files. We called it a prefix when we were developing the imprinting algorithms. It's the thing that grabs your attention at the beginning of a flash. To be able to put information into your head and have it stay there the encoding algorithm needs to get the spotlight of your brain's attention using a strong emotional cue. That's why a flash feels like a heart attack."

"That comes by design?"

"Sorry, Chuck. Anyway, about two weeks ago the surveillance viruses started getting hits off of a number of campaign commercials. They were programmed to send messages all over the world so that I could receive them without being tracked."

"Oh that's not good! They've started then … trying to influence elections?" Chuck began to feel like he was in free fall.

"It didn't look like it, right at first. On the few videos I risked checking, all I could find were the prefixes. But just to make sure I had Ellie follow those races." His father put his hands up as Chuck's anger flared again. "I know … big mistake, but at the time I thought it was just a decoy and I was announcing to whoever was involved that I was falling for it. I didn't think it would put Ellie in danger. Now … I'm not so sure it was a decoy."

"Why?"

"Haven't you been following the news?"

"I've been a little preoccupied. What happened with …"

A hissing whisper cut Chuck off. "Steven! What the hell are you doing here?"

Having heard no one approach, Chuck snapped into a fighting stance but dropped his hands sheepishly seeing Sarah coming down the alley.

She stalked up to his father, her face under tight control that told Chuck of the fury beneath. "You're not safe here. You need to leave _now_. We can arrange a meeting later when we aren't surrounded by Ring agents. They're combing the parking lot looking for you and will be here soon … _so move it_!"

His dad jumped into motion at Sarah's barked order.

"Okay, I'd better go, son, but just know, you'd help my heart quite a bit if you would wrap things up and arrest Shaw sooner than later."

"We're trying."

His dad gave him quick hug then headed further down the alley, stopping next to a manhole and levering it out of it's seat with a hook he pulled from under his coat. Apparently his father had planned an exit.

"Chuck, could you help me with this?" Chuck ran over to the hole as his father dropped down, descending on the ladder. Just as the man was about to disappear Chuck remembered something his father had said earlier.

"Dad, who's Winbaugh?"

"You never saw the … oh Christ. Of course she wouldn't tell you. You need to ask Beckman about the Intersect's delta files. _Do not_ let her get out of it under any circumstances. Play on her patriotism if you have to. Now I gotta go. Stay away from Shaw, Chuck. He's bad news … and listen to Sarah."

Chuck braced himself and used his foot to slide the cover back into place, his father having taken the lever with him. He stood, preparing himself for the lecture that he was sure would come but was surprised when, instead, he found himself being pinned against the Underpants' exterior wall, Sarah's lips finding his and furiously prying them open.

_Uh …_

She grabbed his hands, planting one on her backside and the other in her hair. His hands weren't still for long. His eroding sense of public propriety offered little resistance as she unbuttoned his pants and dropped his zipper.

_Holy crap! This is really gonna happen! _

His mind had just made the switch from fight-or-flight to must-reproduce-now when Sarah broke off, backing away. She took a few shaky breaths, gave him a hungry once over with her eyes, then turned and headed back towards the parking lot, finger-combing her hair into a semblance of order.

_What? But ... we were going to … right here … how can she just … that's so unfair!_

Chuck's eyes followed her slightly drunken walk down the alley getting distracted as a tall, wide-framed man crossed at the end, glancing briefly towards them. The flash hit him as he attempted to zip himself up, nearly causing a tragic accident. The man was Julius Silverman, Ring agent, and Chuck had no doubt, a former member of Taproot. Sarah had timed her little ruse perfectly, giving them an excuse for being down the alley. Chuck had to admire her ability to execute despite the pain it caused.

His blood was still running high as he exited the alley, and he fully intended to follow Sarah back to the OO and make good on her rain check. He started in that direction but before he'd gone a step, he made visual contact with three other Taproot members around the parking lot, all studiously avoiding eye contact with him. Ironically it was Sarah's voice in his head that was the final wet blanket on his libido, lecturing him on the dangers of losing focus. Chuck's father had given him two big pieces of information and he knew what he needed to do with them.

As he forced himself back towards the Buy More he was met with hooting cheers from the trio of Jeff, Lester, and Fernando waiting twenty feet from the alley, Casey and Morgan standing a few steps behind. Chuck looked over his shoulder at Sarah's swaying hips, retreating back to the OO, and realized exactly what it looked like.

Lester was recording the moment on video. "Tuesday, November second, 2010 … Chuck Bartowski exits the alley of shame after engaging in sexual relations with one Sarah Walker, yogurt hottie. Let's see what he has to say for himself."

"Fuck off Lester." Chuck pushed the camcorder out of his face, heading straight for Casey and Morgan.

Morgan put his hands up. "Dude, I had nothing to do with this. We were lucky enough to keep them from videotaping you ... um …" Morgan pulled his collar away from his neck. "Anyway! Back to work everyone. Show's over."

With a chorus of boos and raspberries the trio headed back to the front entrance followed by Morgan, Casey and Chuck. Casey slowed down and Chuck matched him, letting Morgan get ahead.

"Anything you want to tell me, Bartowski? I'm guessing you didn't run out of there like the building was on fire to bump uglies with Walker in the alley."

"Gee, Casey, it sounds such much less sordid when you say it." Chuck stopped short of the entrance, bending down to tie his shoe. "My dad just contacted me."

"He did what? He has to know Shaw has the whole Buy More wired?"

"He didn't use the phone. He used the imprinting … the Intersect technology to somehow send me a message. He told me where to meet him except it was a diversion for …" Chuck paused, a nagging thought getting his attention. "Wait a minute. How did they know …" Chuck felt the hairs on his neck prickle. "Oh god … Casey, I need to talk to Beckman, now! It's an emergency."

* * *

A/N: Apologies if the plot is slow in developing. I think you'll be happy with next chapter in that respect.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Lots happening in this chapter. If you find yourself feeling a little lost at any point I recommend re-reading Chuck and Casey's meeting with Beckman towards the end of chapter 10 and Chuck and his dad's meeting all the way to the end of chapter 12. Don't worry, the chapter's not too complicated and answers a lot of questions.

Thanks to **KateMcK** for making some really great suggestions in this chapter. Any mistakes are due to my copious tinkering and not her oversight. Also, for the two of you that don't know, she's a great writer and you should check out the story she's currently working on, "**A Common Spy Problem**".

Oh ... and I own nothing in this chapter. Well I did have a chicken parmesan sandwich recently but ... well that's more like renting than ownership, right?

* * *

"He's gonna what?"

"Casey's gonna crash and burn in epic proportion is what he's gonna do. No one has ever been able to keep up with Jeff in an eating contest … without vomiting."

Chuck didn't have to fake a smile, seeing his friend's excitement. "And it's Ho Hos this time?"

Morgan snickered evilly.

"Well that should be a little more pleasant coming back than when Jeff and Fernando had that Easter-egg eating contest."

"I could have done without remembering that." Morgan shuddered.

"Wow, even the Mystery Crisper King is humbled. So what do you think got into Casey?"

"No idea. He never does this stuff ... but it's gonna be awesome." Morgan started hopping from foot to foot with unsuppressed glee, seeming like his old, non-AssMan self. Chuck felt sorry to disappoint him.

"Well, Buddy, I guess I'll draw the short straw this time and watch the store. Can't have everyone disappear."

"Yeah, you can. I'm the AssMa … assistant manager."

"And I want it to stay that way, which is why I can't abandon my post. Someone's gotta be here in case the customers start a riot."

"Am I gonna have to stage an intervention for you? It's the _Buy More_. No one cares."

"No one except the long lost Emmett."

"You know, I don't want to invoke policy with you, since we're friends and all, but that name is not to be spoken here."

"Sorry. Anyway, I'll have to miss this one."

"Your loss."

"Document it for me?"

"Are you kidding? I'll FaceTime it and you can watch it live." Morgan rushed off, likely to perform his MC duties, and Chuck smiled, feeling at least one small thing was right with the world.

The call came two minutes later as he knew it would. The only reason Casey would take part in the Buy More Olympics was in the line of duty, in this case, clearing the Nerd Herd desk to ensure Chuck would get the order for out-call service. Casey had taken Chuck's use of the word "emergency" very seriously.

The address was in North Glendale, a modest bungalow nestled in an LA mix of oak and palm trees. Chuck was impressed that the CIA had managed to make a safe house look so lived in, toys scattered about, yard maintained but not meticulously, driveway slightly marred with automotive stains.

The CIA officer who met him at the door seemed very young and Chuck was not surprised when he failed to flash on her face. "So I hear you have a computer emergency?"

"You're here so quickly."

"You caught me at a good time. Our cue is the shortest it's been in months"

"Please come in. You're the first people we call now since you fixed our old computer back in August of 2008."

Code phrases exchanged, Chuck relaxed and looked around. He was even more impressed with the hominess of the interior. The officer cleared her throat seeming expectant.

"Oh right. One more authentication thingy. Eight six juliet mike five niner five charlie x-ray uniform niner two zulu." Chuck realized too late that he probably should have used the normal alphabet since he wasn't speaking over the phone. The young officer's wry smile had him feeling sheepish.

"Welcome Mr. Carmichael. I'm supposed to ask you for your mobile and watch."

His sudden panic must have been apparent.

"... so your tail can't follow." Her expression rested somewhere between reassurance and rolling her eyes.

_Ah …right. Get in the game, Chuck._

He activated the signal-cloning app on his phone then handed it and his watch over, realizing Sarah and Casey wouldn't be able to track him now either.

"Your ride is in the garage of the house directly behind this one. You'll find a ladder next to the big oak in the back for hopping the fence."

_I wonder why we can't do the meeting here._ It occurred to him then, looking at the photos and portraits in the hall, that the CIA might not have owned either this or the house behind it. This charade was going down in peoples' actual homes!_ Is that even legal? Hope they know the owners' schedules. And I guess this means Beckman thinks the CIA's safe houses have been compromised. Great. Is there anything that isn't?_

"Greet your driver as Mr. Chomin and tell him you'd like to go to your suite."

His ride turned out to be a Toyota minivan with tinted windows and a humorless, nearly mute driver. Once Chuck gave the code phrase and buckled in, his driver backed out of the garage and set off without a word. He took Chuck on a circuitous route through Glendale to a cheap motel with the faux alpine façade which, for some odd reason, had been popular in the seventies. Before Chuck hopped out, the driver handed him a room key and pointed in the direction of a room. Chuck looked across the sparsely populated lot. He hadn't seen his tail since back at the house but he still felt trepidation at the thought of being so exposed.

The room the key opened was empty except for sparse furnishings and a briefcase resting on a low table which supported the old CRT TV. Guessing, Chuck dialed a four-digit number Casey had forced him to memorize into the case's combo-lock. It popped open to reveal the same antenna and laptop pair they'd used for previous secret meetings with Beckman. He remembered, as he flipped open the laptop and saw the prompt on the screen, that Casey or Sarah had always needed an encryption key to start the countdown for the connection. Thinking that the fob on the room key might be a flash-drive, he pulled at one end. Instead of revealing a USB connector, however, he pulled out a long strip of paper with numbers and letters printed on it. He entered these and a countdown clock popped up on the screen.

As he waited, Chuck took in the vintage 70s décor. He'd always felt vaguely uneasy in rooms where things had been left unchanged for such a long time. It was like those places had been set outside of time and forgotten and if he stayed too long he might never be able to leave. It was a unique neurosis, he knew.

A crinkling sound to his left caught his attention. He looked down to see the strip of paper with the numbers and letters disintegrate into ash and drift slowly to the floor.

_Okay, this is too much. Where's Peter Graves?_ In his best Bob Johnson voice he said, "This tape will self destruct in ten seconds."

He started to snicker but the creepy silence of the room took the amusement out of it. To combat his nerves he resorted to practicing the memory discipline Sarah had been teaching him. Since he was about to talk with Beckman, he attempted to remember as many details as possible about her office, as seen through the monitor. He started with the General herself and every wrinkle ... twinkle in her eye, then let his focus drift over her shoulder to the framed picture behind her and …

_Huh …_

Something tickled his memory about the previous Saturday night's meeting, from before they had tranqed and tagged Shaw.

_I wonder if that's how … no! Was he … all this time? No!_

The General came on the monitor then. Seeing the big glass framed print behind her, Chuck realized that he'd had the biggest clue sitting right in front of his face.

"Bartowski?"

"General." Chuck waited several beats before he realized the General was glaring at him expectantly. "Right. Uh … where do I start?"

"Oh for God's sake, is this an emergency or not! Just give me the abridged version."

_Yeesh. They must've put an extra helping of grumpy in the NSA coffee today?_ "Uh, okay. So, I was talking to my dad …"

"What? You met with your father? With your surveillance? Where is he?"

"I don't know. Not captured, if that's what you're worried about. That wasn't the emergency though. So …"

"You let him go? Was Walker or Casey with you?"

"Sarah was … look, General, we couldn't get him to stay because the Ring knew he was in the area and they were closing in. As it was, they missed seeing him by less than a minute."

"Fine. What's the emergency then?"

Chuck wondered how it was that, even though he was bringing the General possibly the first big lead in their investigation of Shaw, he was still made to feel like he'd screwed the pooch. Suddenly very frustrated he launched into the explanation of his suspicion, not giving her an opening to speak. Despite not having prepared, he made it through in one try. Finally he paused and Beckman put her hand up to silence him.

_Damn it! Just because this isn't coming from Casey or Sarah doesn't mean it's wrong._

To his surprise, however, she accepted his theory and offered to give him exactly what he was asking for, but she was dubious about the length of time required to send the files over their current connection, particularly with the level of encryption being used.

_Good lord! And she's head of the NSA? Isn't this what they do? _

She promised she would get right on it and have the files to him by courier later that evening. It was the first time Chuck had ever seen Beckman seem apologetic. He barged ahead then, hoping her contrite mood would give him an edge in asking his second request. It didn't.

"Mr. Bartowski …" He always knew he'd pushed it when she emphasized that he had yet to become a CIA officer. "… Under no circumstances are you entitled to ask for the Delta Files."

"General, my father seemed to think they were important to the Shaw investigation. Something about Winbaugh …"

"Winbaugh? He's not in those files."

_So helpful. Fine. We'll play it that way._ "Who _is_ Winbaugh?"

"Not relevant."

"Fine, I guess I'll look into it myself."

"Bartowski!" Beckman visibly clenched her jaw then spoke. "Winbaugh was a PI Eve Shaw's brother hired to investigate her murder. I assure you, there's nothing about him in the Delta Files."

"Okay. Why not? What are the Delta Files?"

"They're none of your concern."

_And around and around we go. I'm not giving up, General._ "You are aware of everything in my head, right?"

"The growing hole in the lining of my stomach is evidence of how _completely_ aware I am of what's inside your head. However … there are some files that are too top secret even for the Intersect. _I_ don't even know all of what's in there. Those files have effectively been deleted … more like suppressed ... and I'm not changing the status of those files based on your father's suspicions."

_Hmmmm. What would they want to hold back from the Intersect? Maybe something embarrassing to our government … or to certain individuals in the government? Does our tiny General have a skeleton or two in the closet? You gotta go for it, Chuck._

"General, you yourself have pointed out the stakes of our situation several times. We're talking about the integrity of our republic and democratic processes here. The Constitution would be meaningless if the Ring or Shaw got what they wanted. Now my father thinks there's something relevant in those files and I think he probably knows a thing or two about the Intersect. So don't hold out on me because you're worried about me seeing something embarrassing about one of your friends!"

Despite beginning with righteous frustration, Chuck felt his resolve eroding by the mountain-full in front of her wrath, even considering an apology by the time he reached the end of his rant. Before he got the chance, however, she spoke, shaking in her effort to restrain her anger.

"When your father comes out of hiding, he and I are going to have a long ... long ... talk." She took a long slow breath, her fury ebbing as she exhaled. "Okay, Bartowski, I'll make you this compromise. You'll get the de-suppression device but you will access only that which is relevant to Winbaugh! If there's nothing in the files on him, then that's that and you will not access anything else. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am ... sir … General."

"Once you've seen your files you will activate the device again and suppress them. Again, understood?"

"Yes General."

"You've had an unusual road to becoming a CIA trainee so your insubordination has been tolerated in the past. I want you to understand that tolerance ends here. You _will_ obey me on this. If I hear anything about those files coming back to me from any channels, with the exception of what I've authorized you to look up, then there is no safe place for you on this Earth! You don't want me as your enemy, Bartowski. "

"No General." His voice box failed to engage and it came out as a whisper.

"I'm glad we understand each other. Expect the courier seven to eight pm your time."

As usual, she was gone before he could ask another question and, as usual, Chuck was left with the distinct feeling of having been rebuked. The screen flashed a terse sentence, "Leave the brief case and contents", then went dark. Chuck didn't stick around to enjoy the room's anachronistic creepiness.

As he watched the shop fronts and apartment complexes of Glendale through the minivan's windows, the realization began to dawn on him that he had actually gotten both things he'd asked for. Although it also dawned on him that none of it would have happened if it wasn't for his father. All this time their investigation had turned up virtually nothing, but then a three minute talk with his dad had given them their biggest lead yet. Somewhere along the way his little team had started playing ball far outside of its league.

* * *

_Oh yeah. This is the life._

Out of Chuck's entire love hate relationship with the late Bryce Larkin, there was one thing he could feel unambiguously thankful for. At the end of a crappy day Chuck had always wanted one of two things, a beer or a long shower, but Bryce had been the one to ask, "why choose?" And why indeed? The combination was nothing short of one of mankind's greatest inventions. So great, and so seemingly obvious, in fact, that when Chuck had recently installed a new piece of hardware in the shower, perfectly shaped to hold a beer bottle, Morgan hadn't even needed to ask why.

Chuck took a swallow of the Redtail he'd picked up from the corner market and tried to let the alcohol and hot water wash away a persistent prickle of guilt. Casey deserved the poor man's hot tub treatment far more than he did. The man had indeed taken one for the team that afternoon.

As predicted, the eating contest had ended in vomiting, though it was Jeff, not Casey, who'd finished driving the porcelain bus. Even so, it was obvious that Casey had drawn the worse fate. Chuck had returned from his meeting with the General to find the big man laid out across a table in the break room, a continuous gravelly moan coming from his mouth, and strange, whale-like sounds coming from his middle. He didn't need the steely death-glare to tell him that he owed the man … again.

Fortunately Casey's situation had improved and he was now convalescing at home with a bottle of Pepto at his side. This left Chuck more or less on his own, his other partner having gone home for the night. She'd sent him a brief text, "Lots of work. Staying home 2night. Call U later. Love U. S.", which he wasn't quite sure how to feel about. On the one hand, this gave him a respite from what was sure to be a scary discussion, but on the other, she seemed to be missing the point of his little pep talk about team work from the night before. And, though he figured it made him a pathetic sap, he knew he'd be pining for her tonight.

He looked down at his bottle. _Crap. Even my beer left me. _

With a heavy sigh, he ended the shower and dried off. Scary discussion or not, he realized he wanted to talk to Sarah. He'd learned some interesting things today and wanted to share. Shaw's surveillance everywhere had made this impossible to do earlier. It was not a comforting thought that, aside from Beckman, no one else knew what he suspected. Now it only took two murders, albeit one of a general, to keep the conspiracy secret. He hoped Beckman could trust her staff more than she seemed to trust the CIA.

Towel around waist, he slipped back into his room as quietly as possible, attempting to be the considerate roommate; Morgan and Fabrice were enjoying a romantic dinner in the front room. As he dressed he pondered the problem of Shaw's surveillance. He would be getting some extremely sensitive intelligence from Beckman so he couldn't have Shaw reading over his shoulder. There were a number of tiny cameras and bugs throughout the house, including the bathroom — at least in the past, Casey had left him some privacy — and the number and placement was constantly changing. The only safe way to go was to take them all out simultaneously, which meant frying both the primary and secondary transceivers.

_Heh! Might give that fucker a little surprise. That'd be worth it in itself.  
_

In actuality, Chuck was a little worried that he had no idea how Shaw would react if all his surveillance went down at once, so he decided he'd wait till the courier got there before doing anything about it. With time to kill he indulged in a little blog surfing, both curious and afraid to see how the vote was going. The stream of election-day updates reminded him of the imprinting prefixes his father had found in campaign ads and, wondering how they would affect the Intersect, he went searching. He pulled up a commercial on You Tube from one of the candidates mentioned in Ellie's list and played it. Nothing happened in the first few seconds and it occurred to Chuck that his Internet traffic was, no doubt, being monitored. He wouldn't have the luxury of searching through more videos from candidates on that list. If this one didn't have the prefix then ...

_Well … how about that._

About fifteen seconds into the video he'd felt the distinct nystagmus and disconcerting rush he associated with a download or flash, though it was one of the mildest he'd ever experienced. Also, no images or messages followed.

_Just like Dad said … only the prefix. Well what's the point of that? Flashes aren't exactly pleasant. I can't see how that would make me want to vote for … oh …_

Chuck had to restrain himself from smacking his head.

_Well that's clever. Lets see that again. Yup! The candidate's face comes on screen, then boom ... negative experience right on top of it. Oh … and on top of his name at the end too. Sonofabitch! That's gotta be more effective than any negative campaign ad. It doesn't even matter if the sound is on. So ... they must have plants in the rival campaigns to insert this stuff. That's pretty brazen. They have to know the CIA can decrypt those prefixes … unless … oh shit! Oh shit! _

A knock on his window sent his heart into his larynx. He turned, wishing he'd listened to Sarah's admonitions to keep a weapon in his room, then relaxed when he saw the figure through the window. A twenty-something delivery driver from Buona Pizza stood outside looking alert.

_You coward, it's Beckman's guy. Keep it together._

Chuck had become enough of a regular at Buona that the delivery guys now went straight to the Morgan door, which was an especially convenient cover for the courier. Chuck opened the window, eyes scanning the courtyard, racking his brain for the proper protocol.

"You order a chicken parmesan sandwich and side Ceasar salad?"

_That's right. Then I say ... _"You found the right place. Good thing too; I'm starving. What do I owe you?"

"Thirteen seventy."

"Cash only, right?"

"Yup."

Chuck handed him seventeen dollars. "Keep the change." _Okay, now how does the verification work?_

As the courier took the money he pressed a scanner he'd been palming against Chuck's thumb pad. At the same time a green light flared in Chuck's right eye tracking across it twice. Less than a second later an LED on the end of the scanner flashed three times. It was over in moments and appeared like nothing more than a handshake.

"Enjoy your sandwich and have a good night." The courier turned and crossed the courtyard.

_Huh … that was easy. So ... what do I do first?_ Remembering the video he'd seen before the courier got there, his hand went straight for his phone, speed dialing Sarah's number. Her recorded message answered him a few rings later.

_Damn it!_ "Hey … call me back when you get this. I'm alright but I'd like to hear your voice already."

He texted a similar message a moment later. The addition of "alright" and "already"was intended put Sarah on guard, using her old message code. If he didn't hear from her soon he'd have to pay a visit to Casey.

_Okay, don't freak out, Chuck. Keep busy. Let's see what Beckman sent you. Actually, before that, it's time for your voyeur friend to go blind._

Chuck grabbed a book of logic puzzles off his desk then reached into his desk drawer, making a show of searching for a sharp pencil. At the same time he slid a hidden panel out of the side of the drawer organizer, palming the circuit board that fell into his hand. With the puzzle book covering the device, he exited the room.

Just outside his door he brushed the hand with the circuit board against the wall in front of him, flipping the switch. If it did what it was supposed to it would send a focused pulse of radio and microwaves, strong enough to fry small circuitry, into the transceivers on the other side of the wall, hidden on the back of the p-trap vent for the bathroom sink.

_Okay, so … how do I know it worked? Great planning there, Chuck. Now you gotta get Casey's signal analyzer thingy._

He started down the hall, thinking of an apology for interrupting his roommate when his phone vibrated. His heart picked up and he whipped the phone out of his pocket, but the name on the screen was the last one he wanted to see.

"Hi Shaw. What's up?"

"Is everything okay? I got an alert that the burglar and fire alarms are going off at your apartment."

_Ha! Liar. I guess the EMP must have worked. Don't like being blind, do ya'?_

"Nope. No alarms that I can see ... and everything's normal in the courtyard."

"Must be a malfunction. I'll send someone over tomorrow to fix it."

_Well, at least I have till then before he knows someone fried his transceivers. More fantastic planning, Bartowski. _"Yeah, okay. Anything else?"

"Nope. Stay safe, Bartowski."

_Die in a fire, Shaw._ "G'night."

Chuck hung up and returned to his room. He got onto his bed, sitting on his knees, and reverently opened the Buona box. He was surprised and gratified to find an actual sandwich inside, taking several large bites before looking at the rest of the contents. Besides the salad there were two black cylinders, one six inches long and the other, four, both rounded on one end and flat on the other. The flat ends had what he recognized to be thumb print scanners and there was a small marking depicting a head with concentric crescents sprouting from the mouth.

_Voice ident?_

He pressed his thumb against the scanner on the longer cylinder and spoke his name aloud. He was happy to hear a small click then saw a smaller cylinder sliding out from the flat end. Inside were what appeared to be a pair of thick-framed sunglasses and a hand written note:

_To activate the de-suppression device, press the bridge of the glasses once while wearing them. Do not press multiple times. After accessing your files, press only one more time while wearing the glasses. The suppression will then be re-activated. The device will not function after this, however it will record whether the suppression was re-activated, SO DON'T YOU DARE TRY LYING TO ME, BARTOWSKI!_

_ B._

_Jeez! I wouldn't even have … okay, I probably would've._

He put the glasses on and pressed the bridge against his nose. The darkness dissolved into light which began to flicker. His eyes twitched left and right rapidly for a moment, unfocused, then came back under his control. The glasses went dark again but he waited another half minute before taking them off.

_That's it?_

Curious what he might find he concentrated on the name, Winbaugh. Nothing happened. He wrote the name down, focusing on the letters. Nothing. He tried multiple spellings. Nothing. Getting frustrated, he tried saying the name. Again, nothing happened.

_Well now what? Did it not work or is Winbaugh really not in the database?_

A deviant thought occurred to him.

_Beckman sure seemed to have something to hide. I could always flash on …_

Before he could complete the thought he blanked out his mind. The idea of discovering anything scandalous involving the General was almost as nausea-inducing as the flash that had introduced him to Casey's love letters to Ilsa. Instead, he chose a different target, focusing on Shaw's face in his mind. The flash was immediate and short. As the turbulence receded he was left with the image of a photo and a report from …

… _Donald Winbaugh_._ Dad was right!_

Chuck closed his eyes and focused on the photo. The narrow plane of focus and the perspective through a hotel room's sliding glass door suggested a surveillance shot using a telephoto lens. In the photo, Daniel Shaw, wearing a muted Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, was smiling and glad-handing with …

_Son of a … _

He recognized four of the members of Taproot in the same room, beers, smiles, and casual body language suggesting a celebratory atmosphere. The date on the picture was August 23rd, 2007, two weeks _after_ Eve Shaw's death.

_What the hell?_

He focused on the report next. Two sections particularly jumped out at him. The first: _… cache of notes written by the Client's sister __described evidence of what she called a treasonous plot by her husband, Daniel Shaw_. The second was superfluous: _… found evidence that, prior to her death, client's sister was making arrangements to change her identity and leave the country_.

Acid began to boil in Chuck's stomach. Eve had discovered Shaw involved in treason, then a short time later later was prepared to disappear, and after her death Shaw was photographed celebrating with several men that likely wanted her dead. It made for a horrible story. You_ evil, sick, bastard! __Two birds with one stone, huh? She can't turn you in now plus you get the loyalty of a bunch of SOG goons by giving them their revenge against your wife. Three birds! They'd probably already been recruited by the Ring while in prison so you got your way into that organization. Too much for you to pass up. I bet you didn't even flinch, making the decision. And accusing Taproot of murder was just throwing suspicion off of you.  
_

Chuck had never met Eve but in her place, Sarah's face filled his mind.

_How could you do that to someone you loved? Or did you ever love her?  
_

Chuck became aware of a growing apprehension. He pulled out his phone knowing there wouldn't be any messages or texts. There weren't.

Quickly, he opened the second cylinder, finding a flash drive inside. This he plugged into his laptop, his home computer being far from secure with the logging software and key tracker Shaw's people had installed. He clicked past all the warnings telling him to delete all the files when he was finished. In one folder marked 100801-101102 he found a list of the files he had requested from Beckman, sorted by date. He chose one from October 30th, that previous Saturday. A text box popped up: _this file requires quicktime 10.0 …_

_You're friggin kidding me! Quicktime?_

Swearing just under his breath, he navigated his browser to the correct page. He paced the room with angry strides as the update downloaded. A call to Sarah only yielded her voicemail again.

_Sweetie, you're killing me here._

He installed the update and clicked the file. Several more text boxes opened, warning him of the confidentiality of the files. Only authorized users were allowed to read them.

_Oh for fuck's sake! I know!_

He checked the boxes on each warning saying he'd read and understood. The file finally opened. Seated at Castle's conference table were himself, his partners and the traitor, staring at the screen.

_So this is what we look like to the General. Why isn't there any sound?_

It took him a moment to realize his speakers were muted. He'd just reached out to hit the mute button when his body went rigid. His eyes tracked left and right with the beginnings of a download. As it had earlier that day in the Buy More, a face appeared on the screen, overlaying the video. This time it was not his father's face he saw.

_Christ, I was right. Fucking Shaw!_

Shaw was speaking and Chuck heard the words in his head. "Two items in this update: One ... Charlie has installed surveillance equipment at the site where the elders will be meeting on November 2nd. That meeting must be moved or cancelled. Let me repeat, the November 2nd meeting of the Elders must be moved to an alternate location or their identities will be compromised. Two ... rolling surveillance on Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie starts tomorrow. Two follow cars for each target car. Contract out if you need. Remember, keep a deep cushion, and don't worry about losing contact if necessary. These people know how to spot a tail. Keep focused, we're almost there."

The download ended even as the video continued and Chuck let his breath out, realizing he'd been holding it.

_Holy bantha sticks. He's probably got Taproot intercepting all our meetings with Beckman. All this time he's been transmitting to them right under our friggin' noses. And Beckman doesn't have the Intersect construct so we had no idea. Unbelievable! Daniel Shaw has the imprinting tech and a Ring cell all to himself. Do they even know he's working against them? Ah, hell … he's probably trying to take over the leadership. Why build a network yourself when you can take over an existing one? No wonder we couldn't find his people!  
_

As he stared, thinking, a subtle jump suggested a skip in the video.

_Wait … that's right after Sarah tagged Shaw with that tracker. That whole bit got deleted … or maybe, never recorded. Good instincts, General! Saved our bacon there._

With shaking hands he clicked on the most recent file. It was dated November 1st.

_Yesterday. Didn't log our secret meetings either, General? Good instincts again._

As before, after only a few moments of video Chuck's eyes twitched and Shaw appeared on the screen.

"Two important updates: The first concerns your other job, Sierra. I've arranged a security blackout window tomorrow, November 2nd, at site Charlie-two for twenty minutes beginning at twenty-oh-oh. That's twenty-zero-zero. During this time your path of operation will be clear of video surveillance and security personnel, though you'll still have to contend with civilian witnesses. I'll assume you have the evidence to plant already. Sierra, let me be clear. I know you take pride in your work but remember, your priorities are that Charlie is audited first then …"

Chuck tore his eyes away from the screen, snapping himself out of the download.

_Audited ... Shaw-speak for murdered. And Charlie … is Sarah!_

His eyes flicked to his bedside clock. It read 8:05pm.

Chuck was through the Morgan door four seconds later with only a single thought in his head.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the cliffie.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Sorry everyone for the delay. An entire month without posting? That's definitely my worst. I'll blame it all on the grant I was working on. The sheer number of projects I've had to create, read up on, and then forget for this thing ... I'll spare you the details but I did get the grant so things are good for the next couple years.

Anyway, the last we saw our hero, he was hurtling through the Morgan Door on his way to try to save Sarah, as the dastardly Shaw had put a hit out on her. And off we go ...

* * *

_Something's wrong!_

Usually the voice in the back of Chuck's head only whispered, reminding him he'd forgotten his keys or was late for work. This time it screamed. As he sprinted for the courtyard exit, it took him only a second to realize what had tripped his internal alarm. Casey's front door was ajar but the apartment was dark.

_Oh shit, they got Casey too!_

Chuck caught the blurring movement in his peripheral vision a moment before it hit him. He was lifted off his feet, his mouth clamped, pinned against his sister's door. The Intersect activated a moment later but before it could take over his assailant growled in his ear.

"Company. Six. Organized team. Couldn't see faces. Probably armed."

_Casey! You're alive, thank god._

Casey's words registered a moment later and Chuck's eyes went wide. He felt the grip of a gun shoved into his hand and looked down to see the characteristic extended barrel of a tranq pistol. Casey was holding its twin.

To Chuck's questioning look, Casey replied, eyes sweeping the apartment complex. "Too much collateral damage for bullets. Wait for my signal." With no futher explanation he sprinted to the planter by the east entrance, ducking behind the foliage.

Then the lights went out. Swiftly and with little sound, several bodies entered the courtyard, fanning out. Chuck attempted to still his breath but his surging adrenaline and hammering heart fought him. He brought up his tranq pistol aiming at a dark shape then paused waiting for a signal.

Light flared from the windows of Casey's empty apartment, illuminating several men, their backs to Chuck. The Intersect began firing, calmly choosing targets, but at the first pops of compressed air the intruders were in motion, ducking for cover and locating their attackers. Chuck saw one, possibly two fall, then …

Pain.

It exploded outward from his abdomen through his entire body. He dropped to the ground, wracked with cramping convulsions. Through blurred vision he could see uncoiled wire trailing over a lighted halo of fern leaves, extending down towards his middle. A shadow moved through the light and then a knee was pressed into his kidney, his arms pulled behind his back.

_No! Sarah!_

His mind began to scream, knowing she must be fighting for her life; in a moment he would be powerless to help her. The scream built till, unexpectedly, he could hear it in his ears, growing in pitch and volume. Then suddenly it became words Chuck recognized: "That's my friend you asshole!" His captor apparently heard it too as he paused in his movements.

"What the f …"

Abruptly Chuck was released and a stream of grunted swearing erupted behind him. He managed to roll over on his back and was greeted with a sight both heartwarming and disturbing at the same time: Morgan Grimes, legs latched around the man's abdomen, was biting his neck and clawing at his face like a crazed spider monkey.

_Buddy!_

Unfortunately, superior hand-to-hand combat training prevailed a moment later. Morgan was thrown to the ground, a booted foot in his back. To Chuck's horror, the goon slid a knife from a sheath at his thigh and pulled Morgan's head back by the hair.

"No, asshole! You want _me_ not him!"

Chuck cursed at his limbs, willing them to move, but knew he'd be too late to help. His eyes focused on the glint from the blade that told him it was at Morgan's neck. In the moment before it bit into flesh, Chuck caught a streak of red hair and blue satin from the corner of his eye. Without slowing, the streak slammed into Morgan's attacker, delivering a wicked head butt to the back of his neck. The man sprawled forward, releasing Morgan, then began to roll over and face his opponent. Before he could recover, the small figure leapt at him, barely avoiding a lethal cut to her femoral artery from the uptipped knife. She brought her knee down, with full force into the man's nose and face, killing him instantly.

Fabrice stood, death and red fury on her face, then ripped the hem of her dress to press against her wound. Nodding to Chuck, she grabbed the goon's knife and stood defensively over Morgan, facing the courtyard. Chuck turned then, becoming aware of the other struggle and saw Casey in a losing fight with two attackers. A third was pulling a silencer off a downed comrade and screwing it onto a 9mm pistol.

_Weren't expecting a fight, were you?_

Before the man could finish, Chuck rushed him, his muscles fighting every movement. He flashed on the target as he ran, information fluttering up from a previously suppressed corner of his brain. David Allegheny: Taproot leader, convicted of human trafficking charges but receiving a much reduced sentence due to his willingness to testify against co-conspirators in the executive administration.

_Wow! That never made the news._

The Intersect quickly broke off the flash as Allegheny turned on him. Chuck knifed his left hand into the pistol, deflecting the barrel aside then grabbed at the man's clothes for a judo throw. Before he could gain purchase, however, Allegheny rolled backwards, planting a foot in his sternum, gaining the distance to fire.

"Freeze! Hands on the back of your …"

Surprise and confusion crossed Allegheny's face as he looked to see he was holding only half a gun. Chuck smiled flinging the gun's slide assembly into the planter then dove his knee at the commando's solar plexus. Allegheny rolled with lightning speed, dodging the blow, returning with one of his own to Chuck's back. The strength of the man nearly knocked Chuck on his face but he recovered with a roll, popping into a fighting stance.

Allegheny was on him instantly, swinging an eight-inch blade towards his rib cage. Chuck turned, deflecting the blade past his shoulder and sent a knee to the man's midsection. This had little effect other than giving Chuck a split second to recover before he had to dodge the blade again. Several more times the blade flashed and Chuck parried, having just enough time to deliver an ineffective blow in return.

He quickly began to tire and it occurred to him that Allegheny was merely slashing at his upper body — not a killing move. _You're supposed to keep me alive, aren't you? Shaw still needs me!_ Allegheny was using his superior conditioning to wear him down till he could be incapacitated. Knowing his stamina wouldn't last much longer, Chuck made a gamble and dove at Allegheny's midsection after the man appeared to stumble. He knew he'd been tricked when his arms closed on air and he found himself being driven into the ground with the weight of a body on top.

Chuck's breath exploded out of him and he lay stunned. Steel vices gripped his arms, painfully twisting them behind his back. He struggled, gasping for air. The courtyard began to go dark around him. His vision contracted at the edges. Then strange sounds began to ring in his ear.

_Ping … ping … ping._

It reminded him of his one summer in little league, chawing on Big League Chew, listening to the aluminum bat make that unnatural sound during batting practice when Danny Werbacher would knock them over the fence. Then the sounds stopped, a weight lifted off his chest, and the wad of gum in his mouth disappeared. Sucking in deep gulps of air, he realized he could move and rolled over, the darkness receding from his vision. The figure above him was the last he expected to see.

"Ellie?"

Her gaze was fixed on the motionless form of Allegheny beside him. She didn't react to the sound of her name as a bloody bat fell from her slack hand.

_Oh god … Ellie! I tried so hard to keep you out of this._

The sounds of fighting pulled Chuck back into the present. Across the fountain Devon had joined the fray and was helping Fabrice hold off an enormous beast of a human as Casey grappled with another beside them. His friends looked exhausted and he knew they would fold soon if this didn't end. Chuck raced two steps around the fountain then sprang at the behemoth, twisting in the air. With the last of his reserves he lashed out with his heel, hammering the pressure sensor in the man's carotid, then finished his spin curling into a ball behind the knees of Casey's opponent. Both attackers fell simultaneously, the beast's blood pressure dropping precipitously, the other tripping over Chuck's back with the weight of Casey on top of him. The commando's head smacked concrete and he lay dazed.

For a moment everyone remained frozen in a state of shock, except for Fabrice who began searching the big attacker with an efficiency that belied experience. She pulled zipties from a pocket at his thigh and began tying him up, then threw a pair at Chuck and Casey. Rather than grab for them, Casey rolled off his dazed attacker, collapsing to the ground. Chuck suddenly became aware then of the red, weeping gashes on his partner's arms, legs and abdomen.

"Jesus … Casey!"

"Zipties, moron … before he comes around."

To Chuck's relief, Ellie snapped out of her shock then and knelt at Casey's side. Casey's warning had been accurate though and his attacker began to return to consciousness, flailing his arms. Chuck wasn't the slightest bit hesitant about knocking him across the skull to subdue him before securing his wrists and ankles.

Ellie straightened from Casey's side, her voice commanding now that she had a problem she understood. "Devon … first aid kit … and I need some light."

"Got it, babe." He started for their apartment. "I'll call 911 too."

"No!" Casey and Chuck shouted it simultaneously. Ellie tried pushing Casey's shoulders back down but he resisted, grabbing Chuck's wrist. "Probably too late anyway. Bartowski, you're gonna have to hold off the cops with a story till the cleanup team gets here. And you _need_ to order a cleanup team. You know who to call?"

Chuck shook his head, studiously avoiding eye contact with his sister. "I can't stay, Casey! Sarah …"

Fabrice put her hand on Chuck's shoulder. "You're right. If they sent this many after _us_ … Go. I got this. Sarah needs you." Chuck turned wide eyes on her and she nodded, repeating, "Go."

"You're not an analyst, are you?"

"Neither are you."

Before Ellie could ask the questions that were on her lips, Chuck raced past the fountain, stooping for his dropped tranq gun, then slipped through the archway to the street. He didn't even notice Morgan, standing alone, forgotten, staring at the thug who'd nearly killed him and who now lay dead on the ground. The little man barely felt the shiver that ran through him.

_My girlfriend did that._

He looked away from the grizzly sight, noticing Ellie bent over Casey and Fabrice pacing with her phone to her ear. His mind began trying to put together what had just gone on around him. Had it all really happened? Did a troop of badass commandos just try to invade the apartment complex? And did five of his good friends, some of whom he'd known for years, just take them down like characters in some action movie? Morgan froze, bearded chin in hand, reeling as he came to the only conclusion that made sense of it all.

"Everyone I know is a ninja!"

* * *

Chuck blew through another red light, slowing just enough to avoid an accident. Only a few days earlier the race had been to his apartment so he and Sarah could get naked as quickly as possible. If he could just have traded every green light from that trip for clear traffic now.

_Oh god, why did I leave things so badly this morning? I'm such a coward. We're partners too, besides lovers. She at least deserves to know how I feel. Gah! Get out of your head, Bartowski. The only thing that matters is stopping that hitman.  
_

He turned onto 3rd Street, gunning the accelerator for two blocks, then pulled up across the street from Maison23. Looking up, Chuck couldn't see any lights on in Sarah's room.

_Oh Jesus! _Chuck took a deep breath and blew it out as he crossed the street. _No need to jump to conclusions. Maybe she just stepped out. She has to be okay!_

The hotel's lobby was nearly empty so he sprinted to the elevator, but as he stepped on, a row of floors already lit confronted him. The sniggering of the elevator's other occupants, two weaselly pre-teens, explained the situation. Managing no more than a Casey-like growl at the grinning idiots, he got off and raced across the hall to the stairs. He sprinted up, taking the steps three at a time and made it to the sixth floor without slowing. By the tenth floor, however, he was gasping for air, just short of stumbling and promising to add stair climbing to his training regimen.

He opened the door to the hall, lurching as he rounded the corner. Icy, needling fear ran over his skin. Sarah's door was open, just a crack. There was no light on the other side. Trying to slow his breathing he pulled the tranq pistol from his waistband and nudged the door open.

Chuck had never seen so much blood. Just out reach of the light from the hallway lay a crumpled body.

"Sarah!"

"Chuck!" A vision of blonde hair and grey sweats rushed out of the gloom, wrapping him around the middle and threatening to wring out his last breath.

Despite his profound shock, Chuck couldn't suppress a groan as Sarah's chin dug into his bruised ribs. She quickly let go, running her hands and eyes over his torso, her expression instantly concerned. "Are you hurt? You should've gone to the hosp — unfff."

She was cut off mid sentence as Chuck pressed her to his chest, wondering if he'd ever be able to let go. He buried his face in her hair, letting the familiar scent convince the part of his brain that was slow to catch up. She was alive!

"Mmphffff." The sound came up from somewhere around his collar bone. He heard it again and noticed it almost sounded like his name. He loosened his grip. "Chuck …," Sarah took a few deep breaths, her eyes questioning, "… did you think that was me?" She indicated with her head toward the body behind her. Chuck nodded as she stopped just short of rolling her eyes. "Please! They only sent _one_ after me? I should be insulted!"

Chuck felt a stab of frustration at her careless attitude but then saw the way her eyes cut away to the floor. For just the briefest moment he could see her relive the fear in her mind and he knew. _Just a brave front. This one must have been close._ _I should have been here! _

Sarah continued. "Somebody, I'm guessing Shaw, thought they'd disabled all the security to get to my room." She smiled but there was no humor, only cold satisfaction behind it. "You should never assume you know more than your opposition."

"You added your own?" Sarah's smile widened in response. "So you were just waiting here for him?" Chuck nodded towards the body on the floor.

Her smile faltered. "If I'd been waiting for him, he'd be tied up and ready for questioning ... or at least alive." Sarah shook her head. "He caught me coming out of the bathroom … without my cell phone. What is it I always tell you?"

"Stay in the car?"

This earned him an impatient look. "Besides that. Always keep your phone on you. And what do I do? I Leave it on the bedside table while I go to the bathroom. Stupid, stupid."

Chuck nodded trying to work out what that had to do with anything.

"I only had the key-entry alarm with me in the bathroom …" She pulled out what looked like a key fob from her hoodie pocket. "… and thank god I did, because if I hadn't known he was on the other side of that door …" She stopped for a moment, reading Chuck's face. "You know what, you probably don't need me telling you the rest right now. Just know, I will be much more careful in the future."

By this point Sarah had reached around Chuck, shut the door and turned on the light. He could now see the face of the man on the floor and recognized him immediately from earlier that day. Chuck's eyes rolled slightly, dancing side to side, images fluttering out of formerly repressed memory.

Julius Silverman: Former Navy Seal, most recently worked on Taproot. Convicted of human trafficking but sentence reduced. _Just like Allegheny. _One of SOG's foremost experts in assassinations. Trained assets in both Ghaddaffi's and Hamid Karzai's …

_Holy crap! Beckman is literally going to kill me that I know this stuff._

"Did you just flash?"

"Yeah. Dead guy's from Taproot. Look, that doesn't matter now." The other significance of the flash had just occurred to him — foremost expert in assassination. Sarah had probably just been closer to death than she'd ever been since he'd known her. He'd come to the conclusion on the car ride over, thinking she might be dead, that she deserved to know how he felt. He couldn't just chicken out now that he knew she was alive. He took a deep breath and with no plan, let loose a rambling mess of remarkable stupidity.

"Sarah, you know I love you so much … and this is really bad timing but …" Sarah's eyebrows shot upward and she stepped backward, suddenly defensive. _Fantastic opening, Chuck. Can't even make it out of the gate without stepping in it_. "When I talked about moving in together this morning I did it because … well … sometimes I think about what it would be like … you and me. I mean … I think it would be nice." He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Nice? Really?_ "God, this isn't going well. Okay, I might as well just … I know I was coming off a long drought when you and I started to … you know … have sex, so you might think I'm not being objective when I say it but … Sarah, I don't want anyone else … just you and me for the rest of our lives. I know I can't justify it and I don't want to. That's just how I feel. And I know you're not ready so I shouldn't be saying any of …"

"You … _you!_" Her tone was low and lethal, cutting off his rambling speech like an axe. He flinched, and for good reason, as a second later she punched him in the shoulder, again somehow finding the exact same place she'd hit him so many times before. "I've been wringing my guts for _days_ over what's been going on in that head of yours and you choose _now_ to tell me. You stupid man!" She wrenched him down to her lips, opening her mouth for a kiss that was spectacular and frightening in its intensity. It had to be, as she broke it off only seconds later. "Of course I'm ready! What the hell were you thinking? And I spent all Sunday night … and then today …" She made a frustrated half scream in the back of her throat. "God, you have awful timing!" She looked down at her watch. "And now there's no time. You're gonna have to help me. I need you to …"

Sarah's mouth was still moving, making words but they might as well have been in Swahili. Relief and endorphins had overrun his brain making his head swim. Then, suddenly, the words stopped and he felt the pressure of Sarah's hands on either side of his head, directing him to stare at two startling, intense blue eyes.

_God, she's so pretty._

"Chuck! Focus! The way these things work there's going to be a guy, maybe two, probably dressed like EMTs, firemen, or cops, who are already on the way over to confirm that I'm dead. We need to make that appear to be the case. Do you understand?"

Chuck nodded automatically then ran the words through his head. "Wait … what?"

"Oh no. They _did_ give you another concussion, didn't they? Great, that's all I need. Okay, why don't you come and sit on the …"

"Sweetie, I'm fine. No concussion. There's just a lot to take in. How about you tell me what you need me to do."

"You sure?"

"Yep. Whatever you need, I'm your man."

Sarah smiled, giving him a peck on the lips. "That's not a favorite shirt of yours, right?"

"Uh … no. Why?" Chuck felt a shudder run through him, suddenly realizing what was coming next.

Sarah kicked the boot of the body on the floor. "Can you put this guy in the tub for me?"

* * *

**A/N:** Most guys only have to take out the trash.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N**: This is the place were excuses for taking so long to update are supposed to go ... but you don't want to hear all that so I'll get on with the good stuff.

Previously on "The Revenge of the Bartowski": Taproot invades El Cabrillo but are defeated by Chuck, Casey, Fabrice, Ellie, Devon and Morgan. Chuck, knowing Shaw has sent another member of Taproot after Sarah, drives off to save her only to find that she's already eliminated her assassin. Then, standing over the body of the assassin and his pool of blood, Chuck and Sarah declare their desire to live together ... and spend the rest of their lives together. Unfortunately they have to convince the bad guys that Sarah is dead and get rid of Shaw first. And here we are at chapter 15.

* * *

"Yee-ouch! That's gonna leave a mark."

Chuck had just laid the body of the late Julius Silverman in the tub when the head lolled and smacked against the side.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Sarah was speaking to Chuck's reflection in the mirror as she applied shades of white and grey to her face and neck with an airbrush.

"Um … he's dead, sweetie."

"No, not …" She waved her hand at the tub impatiently. "Casey! Is Casey gonna be okay?"

"Oh … I think so. God, I hope so. I can't say anything about internal injuries but it didn't look like he lost too much blood. I mean … it's Casey. He can't be killed, right?"

Sarah knew better than to give a prognosis without seeing the injuries but Chuck's face told her he needed to hear something comforting. "Casey's pretty indestructible." She hoped it was true. "How's Ellie?"

Chuck cleared his throat and didn't answer right away. "Sarah, I think she might have killed that guy. She's a doctor ..." Sarah felt a second bucket of cold water thrown on her earlier elation. She caught Chuck's eye and saw the recognition there of what his sister had gone through. She turned back to the mirror with her jaw set, feeling responsible. She had been the one to tell Beckman her plan to "shake things up" going on a date with Chuck, and now it had injured Casey and put a very sweet and very undeserving innocent in danger ... several innocents for that matter. The feeling of being behind the wheel of an out of control vehicle was becoming more familiar every day. Her face apparently hid none of these emotions. "Hey, hey sweetie, it's okay. Ellie's tough. I actually think she'll be okay … after some time. And she won't hate you, you know ... about all the lies. I'll explain to her why …"

"No, Chuck. That's my problem to deal with. I'm the one that lied to her so I … never mind. We've got other things to worry about right now, like the Ring. They seem to think you're important enough to send Taproot …"

"It wasn't the Ring." She looked at his reflection seeing his face darken as he spoke. "It was Shaw."

"What? I thought Taproot …"

"They _are_ a Ring cell but the traitor was running them."

"How? We've been all over him for weeks ... months."

"He embedded messages into the transmissions of our meetings with Beckman. He used the Intersect's imprinting technology which is why Beckman never saw it. I think Taproot was intercepting them as they left Castle."

Sarah blinked, letting it all sink in. "So all of Taproot has the Intersect?"

"Some version of it."

"Not like you, though."

"Yeah … god. I can't even imagine those assholes with the Intersect 2.0? We wouldn't be talking right now." Chuck paused a moment. "Should we guess that Shaw has the Intersect too?"

"Maybe … but I don't think so. He couldn't risk flashing in front of us. He knows we can all recognize that face." She met his sheepish gaze with a smile. "Well … most of us can. So how did you learn all this?"

"Beckman sent me some Intersect files that had been suppressed. She didn't know what was in them either."

"That little snake had a Ring cell all to himself and managed to cover it up? Just this afternoon I was starting to wonder about it but I didn't think he could …" She trailed off as the implications hit her. "God, that fucking bastard!" She spit the words out of her mouth, slamming her fist on the counter. "He was the one that tipped them off!"

She went back to the makeup trying to quickly recover from her outburst but could see Chuck shaking his head in the mirror, snickering. "I love how you're more pissed at him for screwing up your mission than trying to have you killed. Don't ever change, sweetie."

She narrowed her eyes but softened the expression with a wry smile. Chuck had earned the right to give her a hard time. "I guess I should give him points for playing both sides so well. If we hadn't been at that park in Seattle at just the right time for that meeting everything would have worked out for him … and then I wouldn't be _faking_ being dead." She made a last touchup to her neck, dropped the airbrush back into the makeup case, then went searching for the bottle of fake blood. "You know Taproot was just his way in … to the Ring, I mean. God, and that whole damn mission against the Elders ... now he looks like he did them a favor if it was him that tipped them off. He's trying to get close to them."

"They'd be smart not to let that snake in."

"Oh I have no doubt he's aiming to take them out and bring the Ring under his control. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Yeah, that's what I would guess."

"One thing doesn't make sense to me though. Why work with the people he accused of killing his wife?"

Chuck shook his head. "It was all a ruse. I saw a picture of him celebrating with the Taproot guys just after Eve's murder. They wanted revenge for Eve exposing a human trafficking operation they were running and it looks like Shaw gave them the opportunity. Sarah … he let them kill her to buy their loyalty. I think he also did it to keep her quiet about some stuff he'd gotten into. Eve wrote in her journal about something treasonous that he was involved in. It's possible he was playing both sides all the way back then."

She couldn't help but be shaken by the depths of Shaw's soullessness. Bile began to rise in her stomach as she fought off the memory of those few intense nights with the traitor. Almost to herself she said, "I can't believe I ever thought he was human." A shudder rippled through her and she fought back her gag reflex. "A sociopath _and_ a coward. He couldn't even show up in person to murder his wife? Or, for that matter, Ellie and Devon … Morgan and Fabrice … Casey?" Working her jaw against her anger, Sarah picked up the knife laying on the counter and tore a ragged whole in her sweats on the inside of the thigh.

"Wait … what?"

"You don't think he sent six guys just to kill Casey, do you? Not to insult Casey, but those guys are former Navy Seals and special forces types. It wouldn't take that many."

"What?"

"Shaw seems to use death to buy loyalty …"

"What … he ... oh that worthless sack of …"

"Now you're getting it. That's probably why he didn't care that we were dating. He'd already figured the best way to isolate you. Kill your girlfriend, sister, best friend … everyone you care about all in the same night. Then you come running to Shaw to get your revenge against the Ring."

Sarah immediately saw that it was the wrong thing to say. Chuck's face turned animal and his voice took on a precise enunciation that sounded alien to her ears. "He's a dead man walking. He thinks everything's going his way but he doesn't realize he's about to die. I am going to _fucking kill_ …"

"Whoa. Hold on."

"I mean it!"

"I know, sweetie. I feel it too. But self righteous murdering is not the way to go."

"I don't care. Beckman's orders can go to hell. He has to go down!"

"I agree." Chuck's gesticulation stopped and he looked down at her, eyes wide in surprise. "What … you think I side with Beckman on everything after all you and I have been through? Shaw's too dangerous to be on the loose like this. We should have taken him down months ago, but we're not going to go murdering anyone. You and I are a team now, right? Well this team doesn't do murder. We'll take him down by the book. I have some friends in the FBI. They'll have to …" She was interrupted by a shrill chime on her phone, then a video feed came on the screen. "Shit, they're here. Get under the bed. You remember what to do?"

Chuck nodded and hustled out of the bathroom. Suppressing the adrenaline rush, Sarah shoved the contents of the bathroom counter into the makeup case and tossed it under the sink. She took one last look in the mirror then ran out to her room's entryway, turning lights off as she went. She lay down in the congealed pool of blood, using the tiny sliver of light from under the door to match her body to the imprint left by Silverman. Then, closing her eyes, she slowed her breathing, running her relaxation mantra through her head.

_La Jolla shores, sand, surf, summer breeze …_

She was completely in a trance state by the time the knock on the door came, her respiration only fast enough to keep herself barely conscious. Sounds registered but had little effect on her mental status.

"Sarah Walker? LAPD. Are you okay in there? Open the door, Ms. Walker. We have a report of a disturbance." Another knock. "Ms. Walker?" In a lower voice, "Okay, open it."

The mechanism of the keycard lock sounded, the door opened and then there was a low light on the other side of her eyelids. The light flared brightly a moment later following the click of the light switch.

"Oh … oh god!" A different voice than the first.

"Okay, sir, I'm going to need you to go back downstairs. You're going to need to stay put and not mention anything to your coworkers till we have an officer take your statement. Do you understand?" A pause. "Sir, are you okay?" Another pause. "Sir?"

The sound of retching sounded down the hall.

"Ah Jesus." A third voice spoke, just barely audible, then: "Just wait downstairs, sir."

After a long pause, footsteps padded quietly to her side and the door closed.

"God damn. Bled her pretty good, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Where's the … oh, there it is. Opened her at the femoral artery … both of 'em, looks like. Kind of a shame. She was a looker."

"Uh-huh. Doesn't she look kinda like Hot Kelly?"

"Holy shit, she does. They could be sisters. Damn waste of a pretty girl."

There were two sighs followed by a long pause.

"Well, get the picture and lets get out of here before management or gawkers make their way up."

A bright flash registered in Sarah's vision centers but she maintained her minimally conscious state.

"What are you doing? Did you just send it?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You didn't even check for a pulse or anything."

"Be my guest. You know they can pull fingerprints from a body, right? Seriously, look at all that blood. That's twice what it would take to kill someone her size."

"Good point." A pause. "Okay, authenticated … and we're outta here."

"Hey, is it weird that she's still bleeding?"

"What?"

"The blood from the wounds is still red but the blood on the floor …"

Sarah jumped several levels of consciousness in less than a second. Her respiration deepened to match.

"Did her chest just move? Oh shit, she's …"

In one swift motion Sarah peeled off the floor throwing an uppercut into the groin of the "officer" on her right. The man doubled over with a grunt as she arched her heel over her head at the other in a remarkable display of flexibility and strength. The heel, however, met nothing but air as the man was already slumping to the ground, a tranq dart in his neck. A pop of compressed air sounded from the direction of her bed and she nimbly rolled clear as the man she'd just neutered crashed into the space she had been occupying.

She stayed in a crouch letting her breathing catch up to muscular demand, then spoke. "Nice shot."

"Thanks. I was hoping I shot the right one first ... the one you wanted me to." Chuck kept the barrel trained on the larger of the two on the floor.

"How'd you know which one?"

"Usually when you're surprised you lead with your right so I went left. I don't know … it just felt like the thing to do."

It was always nice for Sarah when a boyfriend remembered a scent she wore or how she looked in a dress, but Chuck remembering her tendencies in a fight left her positively glowing.

She crossed to him, heat rising to her cheeks, her adrenaline-high driving a horribly timed and inappropriate urge. Watching him take his finger off the trigger, safety the pistol, and point the barrel at the floor, following exactly the discipline she'd taught him, only added more fuel to the fire.

_What the hell is wrong with you, Walker?_

"Um …" She cut off whatever he'd planned to say, pressing her lips to his. He returned the kiss warmly, adrenaline apparently having the same effect on him. Then, she took his hand and planted it on her backside but this got her an entirely a different reaction than she'd expected. "Ugh …" He broke off the kiss, his face registering revulsion.

"What … the dead girl makeup?"

A quick shake of the head.

"Oh god, the blood?"

Chuck swallowed hard, nodding. "It's like … dried pancake syrup." His voice was thin and wavery.

"No! No comparisons to food. That'll only make it worse." She paused, thinking. "Shower?" He turned to her and nodded, the hunger returning to his eyes. "Okay, go open the drawer in my bedside table." He moved to obey and while he did, she grabbed the feet of one of the unconscious men and dragged him till he was parallel to his partner, head to the other man's feet.

"You have a gun in your dresser drawer?"

"Of course. Now grab the handcuffs and zip ties in the back."

"Jeez, I thought you only kept condoms in here. So … are you into that … the bondage thing, I mean?" He paused then rushed on. "'Cause, you know I'll try anything if it makes you …"

"It's not for play, Chuck." She held back a laugh as he was really being sweet. "I keep whatever I need quick access to in there. Though if you want me to tie you up ..." The little bark of a laugh he gave told her he didn't think so.

Following her directions he helped her make quick work of restraining the two men. Then she grabbed a couple of sleep shirts that were on their last legs and gagged both.

That taken care of, Sarah tucked her lip between her teeth and took a fistful of Chuck's shirt in her hand. "Shower."

He made a rumble in his throat that sounded an awful lot like what a wolf would say to a wounded deer and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the bathroom. A moment later they stood in the doorway, staring.

"Maybe we should move the body first."

* * *

Chuck was stretched out across Sarah's bed, now wearing a new shirt from the emergency bag Sarah always kept packed and ready for him in her closet. He took a deep breath and blew it out in a melancholy sigh. The clean-up team had taken over half an hour to arrive so there had certainly been time for a romp in the shower, but at some point while dragging Silverman's limp, slowly cooling remains out of the tub they had shared a look that said, "Are we seriously dragging a bloody corpse through the bathroom so we can have sex in the shower?"

Chuck had to admit, even his heroic libido had flinched. Apparently so had hers. In fact, with the adrenaline rush receded, both had lapsed into a brittle silence until the clean up team had left. He suspected she was as uncomfortable as he was that death was such a commonplace occurrence in their lives.

He took one more lung full of Sarah's scent from her sheets and sat up, his eyes falling onto the laptop resting on her bureau. Black four-hundred point numbers counted down towards another meeting with Beckman. A courier had brought the computer and the antenna it was attached to as the cleanup crew was finishing their work. Apparently Sarah's message had gotten through.

Amped up again from thinking on the events of the evening, he stood and began pacing the room, nearly tripping over the carpet that had been thrown over the bloodstain. In the bathroom Sarah was busily rummaging through three bags set out on the counter, trying to piece together the components for a disguise from her wigs and makeup. Until Shaw had been taken into custody, she wouldn't be showing her face in public.

"Eeeeuuugh!"

The high fluttery shriek emanating from her direction was a sound he had trouble reconciling with his badass girlfriend.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"Yep! Fine." The response was a little to high-pitched and a little two fast. A smile began to spread on Chuck's face. This was a welcome distraction from assassins and plots.

He went to the bathroom door, peaking around the corner to see Sarah backed against the frame, all her attention focused in the direction of the tub. "Okay, what's a matter, sweetie?"

She startled at his voice then quickly turned back to the counter and made a show of rooting through her makeup bag. He didn't miss the briefest glance she directed back at the tub. "Nothing. Just stifling a yawn." It was a valiant attempt at nonchalance but Chuck, after having lived for years with his sister, recognized that shriek for what it had been. He knew better than to taunt her, but knowing better hadn't stopped him from doing stupid things before.

"Sarah, look out!" He pointed to the floor at her feet and was rewarded as she leapt onto the counter with a strangled squeak. Recovering, she looked where he'd pointed and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Chuck only made a token effort at dodging the smack to the back of his head. "Ow!" It was harder than her normal play slap.

"Not funny, Chuck."

He saw it then, peaking around the base of the toilet: dark brown, eight legs, only a little hairy. "Aw, it's just a little one." He crossed to the toilet, bent down and shooed the scared little thing onto a strip of toilet paper.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" She was still perched on the counter and now appeared ready to burrow through the mirror.

"I'm just gonna drop her in the hallway a few doors down. She's just a little Tegenaria domestica; she's not hurting anyone."

"What? No! It'll crawl back in here, get in my bed, and bite me in my sleep ... or fall into my mouth." She shuddered visibly. "And it'll breed … make more of the evil little things. Just kill it, Chuck!"

There was a brief war in Chuck's mind between his ten-year-old self and his adult self, taunting irrational fears being so irresistible, but the adult side won easily. He knew well the folly of antagonizing Sarah Walker. Spider in hand, he walked out of the bathroom to her wide span of windows. Sarah crept off the counter, watching him like a hawk the whole way. He cranked open the side window and dropped the spider out, knowing she'd find a home somewhere down below.

"Better?"

A deeply skeptical look was the only response he got.

"Well, this explains some of the random knife holes in your walls."

"I don't like spiders." She wouldn't meet his eyes.

He kept his laughter to himself, knowing he'd already pushed his luck. "Sarah Walker — officer of the CIA, survives assassination attempts, charges into gunfire, and generally kicks ass the way X-Men Origins didn't — is afraid of spiders. Well, there's one more for the Sarah Intersect."

"Sarah Intersect?"

It was Chuck's turn to look sheepish. "Yeah. It's nothing weird, I promise. I just have this running tally up here …" He tapped his temple. "… of all the little details that make you … _you_. I mean, I know who you are already — I wouldn't be able to say I'd happily spend the rest of my life with you if I didn't — but there's still a lot of mysteries, sweetie."

Her annoyed look finally melted away, replaced by an almost giddy smile. "I really like that you can say that to my face now."

"What … that you're still mysterious?"

Her nostrils flared dangerously.

"Sorry. Enough of Chuck the smartass for tonight. You know what though, I could say the same to you … finally being able to say it to _my_ face." He flashed a wide grin.

"Touché." She crossed the room and pulled his hands around her waist. "Anyway, I really like hearing it. You could say it again if you wanted."

Chuck said nothing for a moment, a giddy thought setting his heart racing, then his mouth jumped into action before his brain could stop it. "You know, usually when people talk like this there's a ring involved."

He felt her tense between his hands and he almost kicked himself for opening his mouth. Her eyes were riveted on him and she remained silent for several moments, prolonging his torture before she spoke. "Where are you going with that, Chuck?"

_Jesus, where _are_ you going with that, Bartowski? You just got the 'living together' thing worked out an hour ago and now you want to bring up marriage? That's like raising on your own bet._

He tried reading her but her expression told him nothing, a perfect poker face.

_Come on sweetie, throw me a bone? Something? _When her silence continued he tried clearing his throat, then croaked out an "um" and cleared it again. "Well … you know how sometimes you've been feeling something for a long time but you don't really need to say anything because you're content just feeling it. Like … life is good, right? And then, you realize that you wake up every morning not knowing whether or not a team of former Navy Seals will kill everyone you love and maybe you should, I don't know, get around to doing some things you always intended to do."

Sarah's eyebrows slowly crept up her forehead as he talked, resulting in a quizzical expression.

"Okay, I'm really not explaining this right. What I mean is ... I love you. I mean ... not just that I'm in love with you but I feel like I know you better than anyone I know and ... I love everything I see, and ... I know you love me too and ..." He stopped and took a breath as Sarah began to laugh and shake her head.

"Babe …"

_Babe? That's new._

"… I think it's possible we'll both be eating off the senior menu at Deny's before you get around to a point."

Chuck made a nervous chuckle that sounded more like he was trying to clear a hairball from the back of his throat. "You're not making this easy."

"Is it supposed to be easy?" She was clearly enjoying his discomfort.

"Well, no. Good point. But this isn't exactly the way it's supposed to go, with all the craziness tonight … the big blood stain on the floor … there's not even a ring. I feel like I'm shortchanging you or something."

"How many times have I said, we're not a normal couple." There was laughter and impatience in her voice. "We can't wait for clear skies before trying have a life. Come on, Chuck, what is it you want to say to me?"

"Can I even say it, given that we've only been together for four months."

"You don't actually believe that do you?"

He smiled at that, finally feeling some confidence. She was right. They'd been learning each others' ins and outs for years now and he already trusted everything to her, his heart, his life, and his family.

_She wants you to be a grownup now, Chuck. So be a man._

He got on his knees, taking her hand, but instead of standing above him she fell to her knees as well, looking him eye to eye. It was fitting; they _were_ partners after all. He swallowed twice then cleared his throat.

"Okay, I'll say it again, as many times as you want to hear it ... because it's true. I'd be so happy to spend the rest of my life with you. Sarah Walker, will you marry me?"

The amused, curious expression fell from her face in an instant and she appeared almost dazed, her pupils impossibly wide, her mouth open slightly, at a loss for words.

Chuck felt a momentary panic. "Wait ... I thought ... weren't we talking about the same ... you knew I meant ..."

"No … I mean yes … I mean … I knew you were going to ask that but … wow." Chuck smiled, his panic alleviated. It was a rare thing to see Sarah flustered. "I just never thought those words would do that ... at least not to me." The corners of her open mouth turned upward.

"So?" Chuck gave his most hopeful expectant look.

Sarah started to reply, eyes suddenly shiny. He barely heard the chime in the background but the strident voice that followed it shattered his world. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Both jumped to their feet, facing the laptop on the bureau. Chuck very much doubted the sincerity of the wish. "No, General, not at all. You didn't interrupt a thing."

His sarcasm fell on deaf ears. "Good. I'm happy to see you both alive and well." There was slightly more sincerity in that statement. "It looks like your speculation was correct, Mr. Bartowski, and very good timing, I might add, as I had just enough time to prepare for an assault on myself."

_Damn! Shaw went after the General? _

She continued, showing no emotion over the threat to her life. "It appears that all elements of Shaw's plan were well coordinated as this has all occurred at about the same time, concurrent with the elections. I don't believe that that's a coincidence."

"I don't think so either." Chuck quickly filled in the General on all that he had learned about Shaw and the prefixes in the campaign ads.

Beckman took the information with a nod and a "Good work, Bartowski." It was the most he would ever get from her, he knew. She continued. "So, here's where we stand. He has lost a significant number of assets but is unaware of the situation; since Fabrice's call we have been controlling all information in and out of Castle, aside from the confirmations of the deaths of Walker and myself. Those races which he appears to have tampered with have all gone in favor of turning over the incumbent, so it should seem to him that everything is going as planned. I suspect he will be feeling maximally confident, which is ideal."

_Ideal for what?_

"We have intercepted a communication to a lieutenant in the Ring's central command cell, the only cell, it seems, which communicates to the Ring Elders. The communication was over the planning of a meeting which will be occurring early this morning. It appears that a negotiation will take place."

_Uh-oh._

"I'm sure you can guess who that meeting will likely be with. Mr. Bartowski, as soon as we are done here you will go to Castle, distraught over the loss of Walker and your sister, demanding retribution. I have no doubt Shaw will then offer you a mission, a golden opportunity which he only 'just became aware of'. You will jump at this mission and go with Shaw to that meeting, ascertaining the identities of all the Ring Elders who are in the Intersect."

"No!" Sarah barked it at the General, no hesitation or question in her voice.

"Excuse me?"

"No, General. This is all built on speculation and we have almost no intelligence on Shaw's plans. This is too dangerous."

"You're right; it _is_ dangerous … and it is the only option we have of stopping Shaw before he can't be stopped. We've seen that he has the ability to use the Intersect technology to effect elections and he did this with only the most primitive components of the imprinting protocol. We know he has a working version of the protocol as well as the constructs to receive it based on the messages he sent to Taproot. If he were to gain access to and then control the Ring's network … honestly, as far as I'm concerned, that is the end of the world as we know it. And if we simply take out Shaw, leaving his assets intact, I have no doubt the Ring would soon acquire them. Then we'd still have the same problem. So, in my view, which to you is the view of the United States Government, anything that gets in the way of Bartowski's mission to identify the Ring Elders is an act of treason!"

The General's face had gone red as she flung these last words at Sarah. Chuck stood to his full height, a counter threat on his lips when Sarah yanked back on his arm, stopping him.

Taking in the interplay between the two Beckman continued. "There is only one way you two get your happily ever after and that is with the downfall of both the Ring and Shaw. And don't think for a minute of pulling another Barstow. You have your orders." She was gone without waiting for acknowledgement.

"That bitch!"

Chuck turned to Sarah in complete shock. He'd been aware of Sarah's distrust of the General for some time now but she'd never come out with name-calling. His own loyalties were definitely not ambiguous. "Screw her! She can threaten you but she can't threaten me. I'm the …" She put a finger to his lips cutting him off. He watched the rage in her eyes transform into profound fear as she swallowed back tears. He realized, then, his words were only bluster. He had no leverage with the General. "Isn't there any other way?"

He watched her, waiting to see that confident look that told him she had a plan, but she shook her head. Then she held his eyes, looking ready to pour her heart out, and after several breaths, she did. "I've slipped through most of my life getting things done — frightening, horrible, miserable things — because it was either keep moving forward or crawl into a hole and die. But I'm not a robot, Chuck. I feel things. The only way I could make it through all that was to never slow down enough to care, never spread roots. You ruined all that … you saved me from that."

Chuck started to respond then stopped. She was opening up again. He had no idea where it was going but he wouldn't be the one to interrupt.

"I don't know how to go back, how to stop caring — I don't want to — but I don't know how I could deal with losing you. I can't. You've always talked about me being so strong, like I'm one of your super heroes … but I'm not strong, Chuck. Do you understand me? I _can't_ lose you." Tears began to well then spill down her face. She reached up and took his jaw in both hands, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, I will marry you, Chuck. I am your partner in everything …" She pulled him down to her lips, the kiss instantly furious and desperate. Her arms clamped around his middle, threatening his ability to breathe with her wiry strength. Then she broke it off, again holding his eyes as she spoke. "… so don't think for one second you're going to that meeting alone."

* * *

**A/N:** I promise I'll try to be better about updating. And hoo-nelly, next chapter's a doozy.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N**: So ... it's been a while, hasn't it. Well, I wrote a 12,000-word beast and I'm breaking it into 3 chapters, so there'll be some rapid updating for a little while here. Also, the chapters after that are mostly shaped (in some cases almost completely written) so there will be no more big gaps in updating.

Now, where did we leave off? Let's see ... Chuck and Sarah had just got engaged (after the clean-up team dealt with the dead body and two tranqed guys) and Beckman had the bad taste to order Chuck to follow down the rabbit hole that Shaw was digging for him. Let's see where it leads.

* * *

"So … what's the plan?"

The faith she heard in Chuck's voice was like a punch to the gut, Sarah not feeling the least bit worthy of it at that moment. How could she tell him she had no idea where to start? Instead of responding she went to her closet, retrieved her tool kit, and set to opening a narrow slip she'd carved out behind the bathroom door latch when she'd first moved into the room. It held passports and other documents necessary to establish the new identities she and Chuck would assume if they were to run. She desperately wished it was the documents she needed now and not the Tic-Tac.

"Um … Sarah?"

"Just a minute."

The task required little concentration but she needed the silence for thinking. How did she go about sending the man she loved into the lions' den with no intelligence and no support — logistical, tactical, technical or otherwise? Beckman had to know the situation she was putting them in, though to be fair, in the General's position there were few options. It had to be country before team. And the woman certainly was restricted with the human resources she could send to help, considering the extent that the Ring had infiltrated her own agency. Understanding, however, did nothing to counteract Sarah's sense of helplessness and her rage against the General. "Damn her!"

She heard the fear in her voice and cursed herself for it. If it had been Bryce, T.G., Phan, Sadie, Carina — really anyone she'd worked with, other than Chuck — she'd have been fine. Her concern for them would only have brought on that crispy focus that began during a mission's preparation. But her lanky-limbed, curly-haired nerd-come-spy … she'd put all her eggs in one basket with him. What she felt now was panic, pure and simple.

She looked up to see her fear mirrored in his eyes and cursed herself again. _Don't poison him with it! _She swallowed hard and thought of something to say but Chuck beat her to it.

"I know. You don't have to say it." She could see from the strain on his features that he really did know. It killed her a little to see that naiveté gone. He continued. "Look, I may not be Bryce …"

"Oh, Babe, that's not the issue …"

"Let me finish. I know I'm not a super agent like he was but the truth is, I have the Intersect … he didn't." The haggard look lifted from his face and he turned his Bartowski smile on her. "And more importantly, I have the best teacher in the world."

_Damn it! Traitor eyes._ Sarah blinked away the sudden moisture, angry at the distraction.

"Sarah, it's true. Okay, so you're freaking out. I'm freaking out too, but if there was anyone in the world who could get me through this, it's you. I soak up everything you say like a sponge."

He was right about that. Since he'd uploaded the second Intersect he'd latched onto her training like an eager recruit, impressing her several times with his newfound discipline. Her faith in their little team began to creep back and the icy core in her stomach warmed a degree.

Chuck continued. "We both just need to settle and focus, right? Now, I'm not really religious but I am a nerd so I know something that'll help with this. Just repeat after me. 'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total …'"

Sarah snorted in spite of herself. "Really? The litany against fear?"

"Hey, it could work … wait … you actually read Dune?"

"Yeah, some of it. I wanted to get the details right for my costume."

"Of course you did; you're Sarah … always prepared. You're like the world's deadliest girl scout."

"Girlscout?" Sarah rolled her eyes, amazed at how quickly he'd cut through her panic. Taking advantage of the distraction, she let herself sink into intelligence officer mode. "Okay, you're right. We … we can do this … but you're going to have to pay close attention. There are two big …" _enormous, titanic, elephant sized _"… problems we have to deal with. First, we have no intelligence on this meet that Beckman believes Shaw has arranged. That means were going to have to stay in constant communication so we can plan on the fly. Before you get anywhere near the Elders they're probably going to search you so we can't use earwigs. We're going to have to rely on our hand signals and lip reading. I'll do my best to let you know in which direction to speak, but remember, I'm not as good as you since I don't have the Intersect, so be sure to _enunciate._ Aha … finally!"

Sarah stood, having extracted what she'd been looking for in the slip.

"Second, we've thwarted a number of assassination attempts that were part of Shaw's plan, which is good because … well I don't need to explain that … but now he may have some idea that things aren't going the way he intended. Of course, Beckman says she's been controlling all the information going in and out of Castle since the attack on your apartment building, but do you want to depend on that?"

"I dunno … usually whenever the little general lady says she'll deliver, she does. Though this is Shaw we're dealing with."

"Exactly. We can't expect that we know all his routes of communic … little general lady?"

"Yeah, sorry. I can't help it. Ever since I met her in person and saw how tiny she is …"

"Don't ever say that to her face, Chuck."

"More like the top of her head." The death glare she stared him down with was entirely out of concern for his safety. "Oh come on, you know I'm not that stupid."

"Uh-huh. You have your moments." She gave him a snotty little curl of her lip and he reciprocated, following it with a brilliant grin that she couldn't help but return.

"Anyway, the worst case is that Shaw knows the hit on El Cabrillo failed. He may be unsure of the status of his other two assassins but he at least thinks they succeeded … hopefully." She paused and fixed him with an intense gaze. "This is where you come in. You're gonna have to sell it. If we want to get him to follow his plan we need him confident that I'm dead and you're broken up over it. That's the hard part. If anything you do or say rings false, if your expressions don't match your words or actions, then you're compromised. There are no do overs. If he suspects you for a moment, it's over. You're going to have to pull off an incredible act to be able to convince him."

"I can do that." Chuck was nodding, holding her eyes steady with his own, but his hands worried the hem of his shirt.

"I know you can. You're my Chuck." His hands stilled and he visibly relaxed. _ God, Chuck. You're a complete sweetheart but you're so transparent. I'm going to have to be tough with you now. _"Now see what you just did there. You were trying to be confident but you failed. Your hands were twisting your shirt and I could tell instantly it was a brave front. You're pretty see-through, Chuck." She saw his face fall and tried to soften the blow. "It's something I love about you."

"So you were just patronizing me with the 'I know you can; you're my Chuck' bit. Great. So I'm pretty much dead then?"

"No, babe! No, no, no. Not at all. I wouldn't patronize you and I definitely want you alive and well. I'm just saying, we need to use a different strategy to help you lie to Shaw. Instead of covering your thoughts and feelings, you're going to have to _use_ them."

"Use my feelings? Since when did you become Yoda?"

Her lips quirked sideways. "Always with the sci-fi. What I mean is, Shaw's going to expect you to be weepy about …"

"Weepy? I think I'd be stoic."

"You wouldn't cry for me?"

"Well … I didn't mean … okay, yes, I'd be a blubbering mess."

"Thought so … but since you're not actually going to be a blubbering mess, because I'm not really dead, then you're going to take all of your murderous hatred for Shaw and convince him that you're at the anger stage of the grieving process. Of course you'll need him to think your rage is directed at the Ring, not him, so that's going to mean minimal eye contact."

"Okay?" Chuck sounded dubious.

"If you make lots of eye contact with him while being angry, he'll realize he's the focal point. He'll know that _you_ know. You need to direct it … out there somewhere." She waved her hand at the ceiling. "You'll be hating him the whole time but you need him to think you've got it in for the Ring, which is just the motivation he's looking for." Chuck nodded noncommittally. "Babe, Shaw's going down, no doubt about that, but we have to be careful how we do it. Okay?"

Chuck nodded again, this time meeting her eyes. "Okay, I can do this."

"Good, we'll practice some on the way over to the Buy More. Now two more things before I get myself kitted out. One, I want you to take this." She handed him what looked like a pink lozenge, the object of her search in the hiding place. "Wherever Shaw takes you, I'm going to follow, but there's no way I'll be able to maintain visual contact and he may deactivate your tracker. That's what this is for. It's called the Tic-Tac. Pop it in your mouth if anyone tries to search you but _don't swallow it._"

"Really? You felt the need to tell me that? Anyway, I'm not into plastic flavored candy."

"It's strawberry flavored."

He blinked at that, a contemplative look on his face, possibly imagining the tech who considered the flavor of his inventions. A moment later he snapped back to the present with a more relevant matter. "What about that tracker you just stuck in Shaw's back?"

"Casey's got the hardware for activating and tracking it in lock-down in his apartment. We don't have time to go get it since we've got to get you back to Shaw before he comes looking for you. We'll make due with this. Now, it only broadcasts if you pinch it sharply or bite down on it. There's enough battery for ten transmissions so use it sparingly."

"Yep, twice for each freeway change and twice when we reach the destination. I remember protocol."

_Such a good student._ "And one more thing … Chuck …" This time Sarah didn't try to suppress the fear she felt, using it to emphasize her point. She crossed to her nightstand, opened the drawer, removed the spare 5906 she kept there and checked the safety. She returned to Chuck, roughly grabbing his wrist and slapping the weapon in his palm. "If you think, even for a moment, that Shaw's not buying it … if he gives you any indication that his actions and his words don't match …" She let go of his wrist and wrenched him down by his shirt collar forcing him to look directly into her furious eyes. "… then you point this at his chest and you pull the trigger until he doesn't get up."

* * *

_Dude, you have the Intersect, he doesn't … as far as you know. Just remember, one bullet is all it would take._

It had never been so clear to Chuck how hatred and fear were two sides of the same coin. He took a deep breath, running his hand over his face, then touched the button that opened the secret panel in the OO freezer.

"Chuck, you okay?" Shaw's voice shattered Chuck's tenuous calm, triggering his heart to make an escape maneuver into his throat. Just before wetting himself, he realized the voice had come through the intercom.

A raspy "no" was all Chuck could manage as he leaned down to have his retina scanned. He took one more deep breath, blew it out slowly, then headed downstairs. _Use the emotion to your advantage. You can do this. _Halfway down the stairs he met the traitor's gaze, and in that instant he understood that the term bloodlust was not a figure of speech. A rushing sounded in his ears and everything he and Sarah had discussed was washed right out of his consciousness. Something primal reached out from the depths of him to take control of his muscles, not the Intersect but the lessons of his Neolithic ancestors, fully awakened, directing his right hand to take the pistol, aim and empty the magazine into the traitors chest.

Or that's what would have happened if he wasn't a Bartowski, raised to know his feelings but not give into them like a violent animal. It was a battle, as the desire for blood was almost sexual in its intensity, but Chuck was not a killer and soon claimed himself. The red field cleared from his eyes and he was left with a deep revulsion, that he was a man that could feel these things. His face folded, his body sagged, and he was suddenly immensely grateful for Sarah's insight, realizing how much he wore his emotions on his sleeve. He crumpled into a chair at the conference table, letting his face fall into his hands.

"Chuck, what happened? What's wrong?"

_How long did you rehearse this conversation, I wonder. _"They killed her." His voice was slightly muffled, coming through his closed hands.

"What?"

"Sarah … she's dead. The Ring killed her. They sent a fucking assassin to her apartment and bled her to death on the floor!" It suddenly occurred to Chuck how vulnerable he was, not able to see Shaw's reactions, but he couldn't risk losing control of himself again.

"Oh god. Chuck, I'm so sorry. Please tell me you weren't the first one to the scene."

_Wow, Shaw. Showing worry for my feelings and not the tactical situation? You might as well just telegraph your plan and write guilty on your forehead. _Chuck nearly doubled up with a spasm of fury hoping its target remained ambiguous.

Shaw seemed to take that as a response. "God, that's horrible. Oh man, have I been there; I know what it's like."

_You know what it's like to find someone you love dead … when you weren't the one that set it in motion? Oh, I don't think so._ Chuck couldn't sit still for these smarmy platitudes and twitched to his feet.

"Listen, I know this is tough but you've got to tell me, Chuck. Were you followed? Did anyone make an attempt on your life?"

_Hmmm. Maybe he doesn't know. How much do I tell him? _"Yes. That's why I couldn't save her. I was gonna go over to her place to see her but they came to the apartment complex … the Ring. They tried to kill me … Casey … my sister!"

"A coordinated attack? We had no intelligence on this. Damn it! Are they okay?"

Though Chuck thought he detected just the hint of genuine curiosity in the question, he didn't trust his ability to read Shaw; he couldn't risk lying too much about the failed hit. On the other hand, he couldn't risk Shaw knowing Casey was fine and gleefully pissing off nurses at Westside Medical. At least according to the one text from his sister that didn't demand to know, "What the hell is going on? Why won't anyone talk to me?"

"Everyone's okay except for Casey. He was injured and … he's probably not going to make it. God damn those bastards! I think Ellie, Devon, and Morgan would be dead too if we hadn't taken out the assassins first."

"What? Taken out?" Chuck looked up for the first time seeing Shaw pale visibly.

_So … you really didn't know. Hah! Better you don't find out we took prisoners either_. "They're dead. We killed them." Chuck fought to keep the sneering glee out of his voice. "I would have tried to take some captives but … they came after my family, Shaw! Besides, I couldn't hold Ellie or Fabrice back. God, those two are damn violent when they need to be." Chuck was surprised to see Shaw actually gaping and had to fend off a satisfied smile. The feeling died an instant later when the traitor's expression turned thoughtful. _Oh crap. I'm enjoying this way too much. _He slumped back in the chair, hanging his head. "Not that it did one bit of good for Sarah."

"Chuck, buddy …"

_Buddy? Like hell!_

"… you're going to blame yourself but you shouldn't. The Ring did this to Sarah. They're the one's you should take it out on. Look, I know you've probably got nothing left in the tank but … "

_Here it comes._

"… if you could do anything right now, anything other than wind back time, what would it be?"

Chuck let go the fierce hold he had on himself, throwing all his hatred for Shaw into a spot on the floor, two feet in front of him. "I'd bash in the heads of the worthless fuckers responsible for killing Sarah!" The sudden return of the blood lust was so powerful he had to run the words through his head again just to make sure he'd used the plural.

Shaw's reply was just loud enough for Chuck to hear. "That's what I thought you'd say."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter. You're not in the right state of mind for this."

Chuck shot out of his chair again. "For what? If you have a way to hit back at the Ring you have to let me in on it. I deserve justice, damn it!" _What the hell? This isn't how it's supposed to go down._

"No! I can't have you running around using the Intersect to break heads. This isn't that kind of operation. I'm sorry, Chuck."

_Crap! I oversold it._ "Okay, okay. Look, I don't need to start violence as long as we're gonna hurt the Ring. I just want to be involved. Tell me what you need me to do … whatever you want, I can do it. Just give me a chance. After tonight I deserve that much." Chuck swallowed hard, forcing an acid fury down into his stomach. It was sickening to realize he was begging for an opportunity he didn't want, to do what Shaw had set him up for in the first place. The traitor was just toying with him. His disgust was so immediate he had to turn his back on the man for fear of compromising himself.

"Took a gun with you, huh?"

_Shit!_ Fear sent needles into Chuck's fingertips. Turning around had given Shaw a view of the pistol under his shirt; his mind raced for an explanation. "Yeah. I slipped it from Sarah's Porsche after I gave my statement to the cops. I don't know what I thought I was gonna do with it. I just figured I needed some protection."

Chuck strained his hearing, picking up quiet movements behind him. _Crap! What's he doing? _Chuck turned around slowly, his blood freezing.

"Good idea. When these things happen, you never know who to trust." As Shaw spoke he slid a magazine home into a pistol he'd been carrying, releasing the slide, and dropping it to his side, all but daring Chuck to go for his gun.

_Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck …_

Chuck's eyes were riveted on the downturned barrel, the Intersect "helpfully" supplying that the pistol was a Sig P226. Still, he held onto his reflexes, making no move for the heavy automatic in his waistband. _Start talking, buddy. Your only chance is to give him what he expects._ "Jesus! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I've had one attempt on my life already tonight, Sarah's dead, and here you are waving a gun around."

"Chuck, you're safe with me. No need to be jumpy." Shaw's voice held just the hint of an edge.

_Oh god, he knows! And I'll never get to my gun in time! Just keep talking, Chuck. "_Damn it, Shaw! You didn't have a band of mercenaries break into your home and try to kill your family tonight. You didn't have to find your girlfriend dead on the floor … not tonight."

Shaw's face remained impassive and Chuck was transported back to a street corner in Seattle's SoDo district watching himself point a gun straight at the traitor's heart. Shaw had had the same expression then. Now the gun was in the other hand and Chuck had no defense but his own reflexes. Could he fight the paralysis he felt in his limbs? As his eyes caught the lightning quick movement of Shaw's firing hand, he knew the answer was no.

* * *

_That's it. I'm going in there._

Sarah had been watching the OO for twenty-five minutes through her compact binoculars, looking for any sign of life or a signal from Chuck. She got to her feet, tossing the binocs into her handbag alongside her gun, readying herself to storm the OO. She stood a chance as long as Chuck was keeping Shaw too distracted to notice the security monitors. If not, well … in that case it was probably too late anyway.

A flash of light from the direction of the OO had her ducking back behind the parked Sonata she'd been using for cover, whipping the binocs to her eyes. It took her a second to find the OO in her field of view but she caught the front door in time to see it closing. Then Shaw was there locking it behind him. _Where's Chuck?_ She swung the binoculars right and left but too quickly to see more than a blur, then centered them on a familiar figure.

_Oh thank you, thank you, thank you …_

She blew out her breath and wiped away the sweat that had collected on her brow. Then she forced down her relief, bracing her hands against the hood of the Sonata to stop their shaking. She needed to see Chuck's mouth. She found him again, more quickly this time. He was a step behind Shaw and was moving his lips.

… _worked. Passed the test, I think. Going to the meeting. No idea where. Don't like this. No matter what, I love you._

_I know, babe. _Despite her being forced into the situation by Beckman, the guilt was almost overpowering. She whispered her response wishing with everything she had that he could hear her. "Stay safe. I love you."

* * *

**A/N**: Watch for the next chapter soon. And thank you sooooooooo much to those of you still hanging with me and leaving reviews. Y'all are awesome.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N**: Here's the second part of chapter 16, helpfully labeled chapter 17. References abound, some obvious, some more subtle. A cookie to whoever spots them all. Also, bonus SWP and something a little creepy.

* * *

_Torrance? Seriously?_ _The city equivalent of generic blue stripe beer._ _This doesn't sound so bad_.

To break the silence, Chuck spoke this thought. "I think this may qualify as one of the first things ever to go down in Torrance."

In the driver's seat, Shaw came up just short of a smile. "Nope, not even that. We're only meeting our transportation here. The meet with the Elders will be somewhere else."

_Good to know. _Chuck was doing his best to ration out his use of the Tic-Tac and this little bit of info had saved him one transmission. Also it was nice to know his heroic end in a hail of gunfire wouldn't take place in Southeast Torrance. His inward smile died a moment later as they pulled next to a pair of suburbans in the parking lot of a warehouse for a compressed gas distributor. The number of men in tactical uniforms, spilling out of the SUVs suggested how serious a threat the Ring considered Shaw … or even Chuck himself._  
_

_If they know I'm the Intersect ...  
_

"Here's our ride, Chuck. I'm sorry but … this is probably going to be a little unpleasant for you. These guys will be Ring security so they'll probably look like the type that attacked you tonight at your apartment. And I can assure you they'll take their duties very seriously. Can you promise me you're going to be okay? No revenge scenarios? None of these guys are the ones that … came for Sarah. I guarantee you, whoever did that is long gone by now."

"I'll be fine, Shaw." Chuck took a deep breath and tried to imagine his happy place.

"Unpleasant" ended up being an understatement for the experience, as it involved procedures very much like those used to process new inmates at high security penitentiaries. He figured that standing naked in the brisk, shrinkage-inducing November air, surrounded by men from the same cloning vats that had spawned John Casey, would likely top his lifetime list of uncomfortable moments, but when one of the thugs probed with a nitrile gloved finger he found himself singing a bar of "Moon River" and the silence that followed turned the awkwardness up to eleven. Fortunately, sobered by that performance, he'd kept his wits enough to hold the Tic-Tac in the back of his throat when his mouth had been inspected, a trick he'd learned hiding candy from teachers in grade school.

Now, surrounded by his "escort", wearing a jumpsuit of quite possibly the scratchiest material ever he couldn't help feeling like a prisoner being led to his execution, albeit slowly, as they'd driven in circles for several minutes, probably checking for tails. To keep the freak-out at bay he did as Sarah had taught him and distracted himself, thinking of the events of the last twenty-four hours. This was a mistake_._

Granted, the state he'd been in exactly twenty-four hours ago hadn't been so bad, lying naked next to his love, slipping into a contented slumber — altogether quite pleasant actually — but that sleep had been painfully short considering the day that was to follow. He ticked off the list in his mind: starting off the anxiety that morning by stuffing his foot in his mouth with the commitment talk, getting to work and seeing his dad's face on all of the video screens, then again in person minutes later outside the Buy More, and subsequently sending the Elder Bartowski down a manhole seconds before the goon, who would later try and kill Sarah, got his hands on him. Following that there was sight seeing in the wilds of Glendale in order to arrive at that unsettling, cloak and dagger video meeting with Beckman, then that evening, figuring out Shaw's schemes and past crimes over a chicken parmesan sandwich …

_God, no one has even talked about dealing with the elections yet._

… and jumping out his window to go save Sarah only to run into an invasion instead, fighting off several highly trained commandos, getting tazed and then knocked to the ground, with his sister, brother-in-law, and best friend getting in on the action and learning that he was a little bit more than King of the Nerd Herd.

_And holy crap … Fabrice! Good luck with that one, little buddy_.

Next there was the breaking of a land speed record, flying over to Maison 21 to find that Sarah had already killed her assassin, then afterwards spilling his guts to her like a sap and doing it again with the proposal not more than an hour later …

_She said yes! _

...but not before tranqing two of Shaw's goons, moving a body … twice, nearly having sex in the shower, playing taunt-the-dynamite-monkey with Sarah's phobias, and having Beckman order him off on a suicide mission, which involved facing down Shaw alone, going to meet the enemy and being violated by the gloved finger of a man who'd once killed a person with his teeth — and that was when the goon was still working with the US government — then finally, sitting here, quietly riding into the heart of the beast that team Bartowski had been trying to kill for over a year. Quite frankly, it was exhausting, and if it wasn't for Sarah — _good god, I'm going to marry Sarah Walker!_ — he'd have been ready to curl up into a gibbering ball.

_Hey! When did we get on the freeway? Jeez, Bartowski, pay attention._

He clamped his molars down on the Tic-Tac, ducking down to scratch at the back of his collar to cover the action. _What's with the sandpaper jammies anyway? _Running his finger along the inside of the garment he felt a regular spacing of intercrossing … _ are those wires? How about that. They are! Why would they have wires inside … oh … holy crap! I think I'm wearing a Faraday Cage. Ha! _

It certainly said something about the level of paranoia within the Ring that they felt it necessary to take measures against internal trackers, though he had to admit they were justified. That he was defeating their security with a little piece of tech and a trick he learned in grade school gave him a smile he did his best to suppress.

They continued south on the Harbor Freeway passing first the exit for the Pacific Coast Highway — he bit the Tic-Tac again — then Aneheim Street — his smile slipped — past C street — _oh no_ — further south towards San Pedro — _not good —_ and then exiting on Seaside Freeway — _oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Please don't let it be a boat _.

On either side of the Vincent Thomas Bridge, gantry cranes lined the empty births like the skeletons of monstrous birds, awaiting the arrival of the steel-hulled carcasses to pick them clean. Inky black channels and basins confined the terminals, all bathed in a sodium vapor sunshine which divided the rows of shipping containers into harsh orange planes and shadow.

Waves of unease continued to ripple through Chuck's midsection as they exited the freeway onto Terminal Island, then looped back alongside a wide, dark channel, eventually rolling to a stop next to an enormous container ship, the Enterprise Dawning.

_Shit. That's where we're headed. How's Sarah going to find me in that?_

He was prodded out of the warmth of the suburban, rejoining Shaw on the pier amid the forest of Ring security. As wrong as it felt, he looked to the traitor for some confidence and was relieved to see that the man was as cool and self-assured as ever while they were led to a gangway at the bow.

_Wait … what part of "traitor" do you not understand, Bartowski? If Shaw's confident, it's going to be bad for you._

Chuck craned his neck to peer up at the black cliff of the hull and the towering cranes overhead, the silent enormity of it pressing his breath back into his chest. _It _had_ to go down on a boat, didn't it? And in Los Angeles Harbor … at night._ He bit down on the Tic-Tac twice then began climbing the stairs up the gangway, unable to clear a vision from his head of a trench-coated Kevin Spacey flicking a cigarette at a pool of gasoline surrounding his freshly killed corpse, still bleeding out on the deck of the USS Tanager.

_I'm going to meet Keiser S__ö__ze!_

* * *

_Fucking hell! _

Sarah had been no more than five minutes behind Chuck and Shaw in arriving at the Evergreen Container Terminal but had to turn back, playing lost, when she'd spotted Ring surveillance on the side of the road. She'd ditched her Porsche by the Eagle Marine Terminal and hoofed it back, slipping past the Ring spotters and sticking to the shadows on Water Street. That had taken ten minutes alone. Then she'd had to search for a gap in video surveillance coverage of the fences surrounding the terminal, which had taken another ten. By the time she'd gotten to her current location in the shadow of a shipping container, spying on the guard contingent prowling about the only gangway up to the Enterprise Dawning, Chuck had been on board, she assumed, for nearly half an hour.

_God, stay safe, Chuck. I'll find you soon._

How that was going to happen was the major source of her consternation. She figured she could likely make her way up onto one of the gantry cranes overhanging the ship, though it would be unlikely that no one would see her, and she certainly hadn't brought enough rope to safely drop down to the deck. Otherwise, the only way on board was up the heavily guarded gangway.

_Damn it, General! You were absolutely no help to us at all. I'm totally unprepared. _

She ground her teeth in lieu of kicking something then kicked the container anyway. It hurt.

_Feel any better?_

She heard it in Bryce's voice, exactly the kind of comment he would have made when he was alive, smiling condescendingly yet with just enough good humor to save himself a beating. She'd been remembering the voices of those she'd lost more vividly lately, suddenly loath to let go of their memories. Bryce had been the hardest so far but she knew it was really her fear for Chuck that was driving this sentimentality. That fear had been growing daily like a towering storm cloud.

_Which is why you need to get your shit together, Walker. He's depending on you._ The thought still came in Bryce's voice.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths with forceful exhales, blowing her panic out a little at a time. Finally, precious minutes later, she had her calm back and immersed herself in the situation, putting herself in the guards' shoes. She was cycling through multiple scenarios, imagining their responses to each one when her eyes snapped open, an idea quickly blooming into a full-blown plan. She shook her head and smiled, thinking of the recklessness of it; Bryce would have loved it. If he could see her now, what would he think, knowing he'd never been able to bring that side out of her? Would he understand that it was Chuck who had?

As always, she felt a pang of guilt, thinking of his disappointment when she'd turned down his advances in his last hours on earth. It was the right decision for her, but for Bryce, rejection by someone he had loved — in his own way — must have hurt. She welcomed the familiar feeling of remorse, using it to stoke self destructive feelings, then took a deep breath and drove her forehead at the corner of the container where it would make the least sound. The pain was intense and lingering, but at least she wasn't dazed. Next she took a sliver of aluminum which had sheered off one of the containers and pressed it to her face where her temple and eyebrow met. Sucking in her breath, she opened a small, deep cut, allowing the blood to flow down her face.

Now it was time to focus and put that remorse away.

Be_ happy for me, Bryce, because _he_ makes me happy … just to be in my own skin. Do you know no one has ever done that for me? Sorry, not even you. And now I need him to come back, alive. I'm sorry for what happened to you but Chuck is my life and the only one I need to think about now. You can understand that, can't you?_

There was no answer, as she expected — his voice only a memory — but she found her mind clear, only her resolve remaining. With no more hesitation she shed her jacket and peeled off her tactical suit, stepping out half-naked into the cold November air_. _

* * *

Brotsan Huxley Stratford, Braughts to his friends, had an appearance that was both a blessing and a curse — a curse more often than not. Specifically Braughts had the mixture of visage and physique that told of a man whose strength and aggression were as dangerous as his intellect wasn't. As is often the case, his looks were deceiving, but, due to his shy nature, he rarely disabused people of their preconceptions. This, in fact, was the reason he was here tonight, acting as filler for the security at this meeting of god knew what kind of people.

He didn't belong here, that was obvious, but was just filling in for a last minute cancellation, having met the team leader, Frank, the night before at a bar where he worked as a bouncer for extra cash. He liked to think he'd done something to impress the man but knew it was more likely his lack of rap sheet and god given aesthetic that had gotten him the job. In hindsight he should have turned it down but the money had been too good to pass up and he'd been told that the gig only involved showing up and acting imposing. That was all well and good, but Frank had failed to mention the serious operators he'd be working with … or the fact that the evening would involve strip and cavity searches.

Now he stood quietly, waiting for the other shoe to drop, attempting to answer as few questions as possible from the Special Forces types surrounding him. They appeared to be able to smell an imposter in their midst. He was quite relieved, then, when a commotion broke out, dockside, drawing away the attention of the professionals who had begun circling him for the kill. He followed the others down the gangway, catching appealing glimpses of naked femininity out of the corner of his eye. Before he'd even reached the pier he heard a girl shrieking in some Slavic sounding language.

At the bottom of the stairs, he had to crane his neck to peer over the others since the girl was on her knees. She was skinny, dirty, stripped to her underwear, and it appeared she'd been beaten, but mostly he saw that she was breathtaking. The professionalism seemed to evaporate from the other guards as they stood and gaped, unable to classify the mystery girl as a threat but unsure of how to aid her. Braughts knew the score immediately. Young, gorgeous, ill-treated, Eastern European, wandering a container terminal at night and pleading for help? Only one thing explained it: sex trafficking. He said as much, and agreement among the other men was immediate and unanimous.

Frank got right to practicalities. "These girls are probably under guard from beginning to end of their trip and those guards probably have guns. The people paying us the good money don't want standoffs or shots fired. So … we can either send her away and let those shit stains pick her back up or we take her aboard and hide her till this job is over."

"Then what?" One of the other guards had spoken up.

"Nick, you and I both know we can't have this getting back to the FBI or State Department, so … we send her to McNulty's people. That's her best bet to getting back to point of origin, otherwise …"

This option seemed to appeal to most of the guards and for the first time that night Braughts was happy to be dealing with professionals. Frank got them moving. "Nick, Ziggy, Ott, Horseface and Nat, you're back on board. Grab some coffee in the galley, get her set up and then come back to your positions at the top of the stairs. Zig, you stay with the girl." There were a few not-quite-suppressed groans of protest at this. "Yeah, you'll get over it. Maui, Fifty, Big Roy and Braughts, you're with me. If anyone shows up, don't telegraph that you're carrying and don't make any moves unless I do. Leave the talking to me."

_Oh you've got to be screwing with me. _Braughts was not a happy camper. Even though he'd used a gun before, it was always at a shooting range. He'd never actually pointed one _at_ someone and certainly not in such a shady situation as this. And what the hell was Frank thinking, putting him at the bottom of the gangway.

The guards had gone back to their easy sounding banter, studiously avoiding any mention of the hot blond upstairs. Their body language said "bored security waiting out the ends of their shifts" but Braughts could see the way their eyes constantly scanned the length of the dock and the gaps between containers. When they all went tense, suddenly focused on one spot out on the container line, the change was so subtle it took him a moment to notice.

He stared out into the hard shadows created by the sodium vapor lamps, looking for what had drawn their attention and when he saw it the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. At least fifteen figures were standing in a tight group, completely still in the shadow of a shipping container. All eyes appeared to stare in the direction of Frank's men, though they made no motion to approach. They all wore heavy jackets making it impossible to tell if they were armed.

A whispered "three o'clock" brought the groups' attention to another knot of figures standing stock still in the shadows off to their right. Frank held the transmit button of the walkie on his shoulder. "Aboard team, we've got a situation. I need some spotters on the railing. Guys … Nick, Zig? Where the hell … shit!"

It shouldn't have reflected badly on their training that they didn't hear the padding of a pair of bare feet come down the gangway, considering the circumstances. When Braughts turned at Frank's curse he saw a blur of pink flesh and then two men dropping to the ground. A heal whipped out connecting savagely with Frank's jaw, then a tiny spray canister was in Maui's face, releasing a fine mist, and he folded into a heap. Suddenly the lone man standing, Braughts reached for the Glock he'd been loaned for the evening only to have his arms flail outward as his feet were swept from underneath him.

The orange tainted sky above him swam for a moment while his brain attempted to recover from the bounce it had taken on the pavement. Then there was the barrel of a gun — _his_ gun — in his face and the beautiful blond woman, completely transformed with violent intensity, behind it. She spoke to him in unaccented English.

"Where did they take them?"

He opened his mouth to say "who" but all that came out was his breath. He found his voice a second later when his ear was twisted viciously. "Oww, damn it, okay!"

"Good, you _can_ talk. So where did they take them … the two men you brought here."

"I don't know. They're on the ship somewhere … ow! Fuck! I'm telling you the truth, okay. I'm a Junior High math teacher. I'm just here to make some cash. I don't know any of these people. I'll tell you anything you want; I just want to go home alive."

He saw her features soften a degree and this time her voice had a modicum of sympathy. "Okay, look … what's your name?"

"Br … Brotsan."

"Okay, Brotsan, you're going to help me out. There is a person I really care about on board this ship. I care about him more than anything. Can you imagine caring for someone that much?"

He wasn't sure what the answer was supposed to be so he just nodded.

"Good, then can you imagine the sort of things you would do to get them back?"

He nodded again, suddenly afraid for all his protruding parts.

"Okay, very good. Now, I haven't hurt anyone … yet … that badly … and I don't want to, but …" She paused, narrowing her eyes. "… I really need to find him … this person. Is there anything you remember, anything at all about who's on the ship, guard positions, force strength …"

"God … I don't know." He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to think past his fear. "Okay, Frank said something about Gregson's people having the … being responsible for below decks and our job was only the … whatever the top deck is called … the main one, you know."

"Damn. Modular security forces. Makes sense. Do you know how many of Gregson's people there are?"

"No idea. I've never seen any of them. Frank and the big Captain America dude, Maui, took them — your two guys — down into the ship. The rest of us didn't see anything."

"Only one of those two is mine. So, how many were in your group?"

"Umm, well, there were … how many went aboard with you?" He saw her impatience spike behind the gun and thought quickly. "Uh, right … there were nine total, plus me so … I guess, ten total."

He could see her do a quick mental tally. "Okay, good. You've been very helpful, Brotsan. That means you get to go home tonight. Now, are you ever going to work this type of job again?"

"No freakin' …" His voice fell away as the tiny spray can appeared in front of his face releasing its contents. _Where the hell was she hiding that thing, anyway?_ It was his last thought before his anxiety lifted for the first time that evening and he fell into complete blackness.

* * *

"Rest well … and dream of large women."

Sarah almost felt bad for the big guy … almost. Out of reflex she recalled her own experiences being thrown in with the wolves, then, remembering her own guy and the wolves surrounding him, she began sprinting towards the container line where she'd left her bag of "toys" and clothes. That's when she first became aware of the knots of people standing in the shadows.

_Where the hell did they come from?_

It was a rare thing that could give her the heebie jeebies when she had her mission blinders on, but her already icy skin began to freeze anew, tightening into needle like points. _They're all standing so close, and so _still. The way their heads swiveled in unison, tracking her movement across the pavement could only be described as "wrong". _They're dressed like longshoremen but …_ _who does that?_ Something old and primal rose up in her whispering at her to run the opposite direction but she fought it, stumbling a bit as her legs became indecisive.

_Oh for chrissake, Walker, who's the one with the Glock? Besides, they're probably dock workers who just got to work in time to see the crazy, half naked woman, knocking people out on the pier. Who wouldn't stare?_

She marched herself the rest of the distance to her things, shaking her head at her own foolishness. Feeling her equilibrium return, she slipped into her tactical suit and shoes. Chuck was still on that ship and needed her help. She wasn't going to let childish, irrational fears distract her from …

She jumped backwards several feet out into the open as the scrape of a pebble over pavement echoed between containers. She flicked her eyes left and right along the container line, searching for the human statues, but they were now gone.

_Shit!_

_No! No freaking out. They probably just went back to work. _Just the same she grabbed her bag and sprinted back across the gap between containers and ship as if the entire horde was on her heels. She didn't stop until she'd climbed all they way to the top of the gangway, turning, some part of her knowing she would be met by a cold lifeless stare and deadly grasping hands. But, there was nothing there, only the stairs and empty space.

* * *

**A/N**: Cue spooky music


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N**: So here's the third part and the climax of this three part chapter. Hopefully it's a bit of a thrill ride and also there's the moment many of you have been waiting for. To avoid any confusion, this chapter starts over half an hour before the end of the previous one but from Chuck's point of view. Alright, off we go ...

* * *

"We're going down there, aren't we?"

Chuck and Shaw were standing amidships, on top of the bulkhead between the aft-most cargo holds forward of the superstructure. Behind Chuck, Sargent Friendly, his name for the balding, beetle browed group leader with the permanent scowl, was silent in response. A square-jawed guard with boot-toe chin, Maui, had already gone out onto the bulkhead and was standing behind a hatch leading down. At the urging of Friendly, Chuck and Shaw followed out onto the bulkhead and Chuck felt as if he were on a narrow bridge crossing the abyss. On either side, the two massive holds yawned, bottomless and black, fueling his vertigo till he felt like he might be sucked into their depths by their sheer immensity alone. He wavered but resisted getting down and crawling on hands and knees.

They reached the hatch and Maui commanded, "Climb down," which Chuck found to be somewhat superfluous. The ladder descended into darkness, but, as Chuck prepared to put his foot on the top rung, Maui turned on a flashlight to illuminate his progress. At the bottom he found a tight cell, about eight by four, open to the two holds the short way, and having two walls with identical hatches the long way. Some sort of ventilation duct snaked down through the center. He could see that the dimensions of the cell were similar to the ends of the steel containers on the peer and his mind worked at the cell's function. He knew if Sarah were there, she would be shaking her head at him, his nerdiness undiminished even at a time like this.

Shaw descended a moment later and Maui switched off his flashlight, leaving them alone in darkness. Chuck cleared his throat. "Um …"

Shaw answered his unasked question. "It's just tiered security. Pretty typical in a situation where identities need to remain secret. The next tier will be the Ring's elite guard. They'll have read the mission statement and drunk the Kool-Aid."

"Ah ... yeah. You know I think I get the logic of tiered security. It protects our escorts and it protects the Ring, but for us ... it makes a nice roadblock to any murder investigation if we get killed."

"Chuck, relax. I told you I have an insurance plan didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did, and I wish you would have explained that plan."

"Well it's too late for that. Look, just trust me. Have I ever led you wrong?"

Chuck had to bite his tongue, hearing Sarah's words come from the Traitor's mouth but before he could contemplate throwing the man down into the hold he was blinded by a bright white light.

"This way." The voice was feminine and subtly accented, something Northeastern. The light, carefully positioned so he couldn't see the figure he was following, led them through a series of identical cells and down more ladders, zig-zagging their way to the bottom of the hold. At the bottom the same female voice told them to walk out into the middle of the bay.

Left in the dark again, this time standing in the cavernous space in front of the giant wall they had just descended, Chuck couldn't help imagining himself waiting before a firing squad, each little cell in the bulkhead holding a gunman. He counted his breaths, straining his ears for the even smallest sounds echoing through the immense hold, suddenly doubting even Shaw's instinct for self-preservation.

Chuck was just becoming accustomed to the dark when intense white light blinded him again. He squinted, shielding his eyes, trying to see the source, several spotlights on tall stands which he'd walked right past without noticing. He could see nothing behind the spots and then realized that was probably the point, putting the Ring in a dominant position; it was like Hollywood squares with klieg lights.

A deep voice startled Chuck and his girlish "meep" echoed through the space. "I was surprised to see that you accepted our invitation, Daniel." Though unamplified, the voice carried easily from near the bottom third of the bulkhead, triggering an immediate flash, and just like that, Chuck knew the identity of one of the Ring Elders. He kept his hand shielding his eyes, hoping to cover the facial tic, as the knowledge he'd just gained made him an endangered man. He was surprised it was someone he recognized, Chairman Reynolds being a fairly public figure.

Shaw made no response and the silence became tense. Then a female voice spoke up.

"You were shaping up to be a dangerous adversary. This is so … disappointing." This time the flash waited till the woman, Belinda Fermin, president of FasCorp Private Security, spoke the word "disappointing". As Chuck recovered, he began to see the outline of Shaw's insurance plan.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" A third voice, another flash, another power elite, James "Jimmy" Effrelt of Precision Electric. "You realize you've committed your associate's life, bringing him here with you … and for what? Do you really think you have anything valuable enough for us to bargain for?"

Chuck glanced nervously at Shaw, wondering if the man might have miscalculated, but the smile on his face was cold and completely lacking uncertainty. He whispered one word, only loud enough for Chuck to hear.

"Names."

Chuck understood immediately and whispered back the three names he'd flashed on, hoping it was enough to hold off whatever atrocities the Elders had planned.

A fourth voice spoke up and Chuck nearly choked on the flash: Deputy Director Gerald Hesch. "If you have nothing else to say…" Chuck was amazed; four out of four, so far, with voice prints in the Intersect. He wondered how long these people had been on the government's radar. "Fine, we've wasted enough time here …"

Shaw finally spoke, cutting the man off. "Quit with the theatrics. You wouldn't be here in person if you didn't think I had something to offer. And I bet you're more than a little worried about what kind of insurance plan I've got." He paused and none of the voices spoke. "Oh, now I've got your attention."

A feminine snort, echoed around the hold, and President Fermin interjected. "Well, it appears our intelligence on your hubris was spot on. Shoot them. We won't negotiate like this."

"That would be a mistake …" Shaw spoke in a rush, for once showing a lack of calm. Chuck was suddenly more than a little anxious. "… at least if you don't want the CIA learning your identities."

"Bullshit. Ariel, clean this up; we're leaving."

"Chairman Reynolds, President Fermin, you think I'm bluffing?" Shaw's question was greeted with silence, though, to Chuck's great relief, no gunshots. "I took Taproot from you without giving a single concession and you only learned about it earlier tonight. Do you think I'm the type to come here without a plan? Let's just assume that your identities are only half of my insurance and start talking about what each of us wants." Again, only silence, though Chuck had the impression that the Elders were now listening. "You want Cloudbank … the imprinting tech, the Intersect … all that. I've got it, as well as new functionality you haven't dreamed of. I'm not selling snake oil here; you can see for yourself. I'll give you a demonstration in a moment."

_What demonstration? On who? God, please tell me he doesn't have another backdoor into my brain!_ Chuck brought his hand up again to block the glare from the spots and began scanning the rim of the hold, looking for any sign of Sarah.

"And what do you want from us, Daniel? You can't buy a seat at the table with incremental tech advances. We've got the technology. We've got engineers. It's networks that get you places, my friend."

"Oh, I've got the connections you need. The chairs of the Intelligence Oversight and Appropriations committees of both houses for one." Shaw paused, letting his cynical grin broaden, Chuck assumed for effect, as the man had no human emotions.

This boast only elicited humorless laughter from the Elders. "That was a nice trick tonight, knocking off the chairs of those committees, thanks for that, but you don't have the money to buy their replacements." Though it was stated with confidence, Chuck could see that Jimmy Effrelt was trying to draw Shaw out, to admit to his resources. It suddenly occurred to Chuck that the election issue might have been what precipitated the Elders to set a meet with their competitor in the first place.

"Mr. Effrelt, contrary to popular belief, money isn't the only thing that can buy a legislator. They want power and a piece of the pie like everyone else and I can offer them that. You'll see what I mean in a moment. Now, lets get back to technology. You pretend like you have no interest in what I've got to offer. You say you've got engineers, but your technology is years behind the Intersect program because you've been reverse engineering it. You don't have any of the _original_ designers." Shaw paused for dramatic effect. "I do."

"Hold on … you're saying you have the architect?" The Deputy Director spoke for the second time.

"The architect? No … he's a boy scout … and a liability. I have Taproot dealing with that situation. My engineer is much more …"

Chuck didn't hear the rest as his brain exploded in a cacophony of alarm bells. _Architect? Boy scout?_ That described only one person in relation to the Intersect.

_Dad!_

And Taproot was after him, or, more likely, the one member left alive and not in custody. He needed off this boat, now. He'd gotten what he came for, four of the five Elders' identities, and he had a bad feeling about what Shaw's demonstration might entail, but most importantly he needed to warn his dad … if it wasn't too late already.

With his hand having shaded his eyes from the spotlights for over a minute, Chuck's eyes became adjusted to the darkness again and he began noticing figures in the upper cells of the bulkhead. Unfortunately none of them were Sarah. He tried working out the amount of time that had passed since he'd sent her the signal with the Tic-Tac, and figured it had been over thirty minutes. _How long would it take to get through all that security? Oh god, what were we thinking? Sarah against all that?_ He felt a lump grow in his throat. _I almost lost her once tonight …_

_Don't wet yourself, moron —_ as always, Casey's voice. _Trust your partner; she's a big girl and can take care of herself. Anyways, you can't do any of your stupid hero dramatics trying to save her if you're stuck down here. So get yourself unstuck!_

This was easier said than done. Chuck began counting the number of guards he could see up in the bulkhead and then made a stab at how many he couldn't see. He didn't like the numbers. He knew, if Sarah were in this situation, the first thing she would do was to take out the lights, then obtain a weapon from a guard near the bottom of the bulkhead, then find a defensive position within one of the cells. With the numbers he was looking at, assuming most of them had guns, his chance of even knocking the lights out before being shot to death was something like a hundred thousand to one.

_I need a distraction._

Just as he had the thought he heard Shaw say the words, "… start the demonstration of its new capability."

_Crap! That's not what I had in mind._

Chuck clapped his hands over his ears and began humming the first thing that came to his mind, the theme to _Star Wars_. As he wracked his brain for a strategy Shaw turned to him, an utterly baffled look on his face. Chuck could read the words, "what the hell, Carmichael", on the man's lips. A moment later Shaw turned back to the bulkhead, hands flying up on either side of his head, looking shocked and confused. Chuck uncovered his ears in time to hear from above, "… idiot! It doesn't matter how many you brought, you're a dead man." The sounds of booted feet running on metal alerted him to the stream of guards climbing up out of the bulkhead onto the main deck.

_Oh god. Did they find her?_

It had to be. Who else knew about the meet? And there were so many guards going after her. It wasn't fair. Without thinking, Chuck opened his throat and screamed.

"Sarah, they're coming!"

Shaw whipped around to face him and for a moment the slippery robot seemed completely mystified. Chuck felt a leering smile creep over his face and hated the feel of it. Then the moment was gone and recognition dawned in Shaw's eyes. Unexpectedly, the man brought his fingers to his lips and blew a single piercing blast, then he squared with Chuck and hissed a single word, devoid of any trace of irony.

"Traitor!"

Chuck stood in open-mouthed shock. _Traitor? Oh no. Nuh-uh!_ _You don't get to call me that._ His fist was in motion before he finished the flash. It exploded upwards into that pretty boy jaw, meeting flesh and bone, rather than the metal alloy he almost expected. It hurt lots but felt fantastic. Shaw collapsed backwards and Chuck noticed, for the first time, several brilliant points of green light sliding across the man's body. His adrenaline peaking, Chuck looked down at his own chest, seeing two bright green spots centered on his sternum.

Casey bellowed in his head. _Duck, moron!_

He moved to respond to the command and two things happened in close succession sending Chuck's world into chaos. The spotlights went out, bathing the hold in darkness.

Then the snipers opened up.

* * *

Like black, green-eyed ghosts, Agent Preston and his partner, Agent Hylan, lurked in the shadows near the rear of the line, their gazes boring into the corners and shadows for signs of threat.

At the front of the line, near the gangway, the last two-man team set up and shouted "clear", pronouncing a safe passage for evacuating the Elders. Preston suppressed his nervous energy, maintaining surveillance with his low-light goggles for any sign of the force that had taken out above deck security. _Come on, assholes, show up and fight!_

The front of the vanguard streamed from a hatch in the top of the bulkhead, soon followed by the Elders and then the rest of the guards and snipers. A phalanx quickly formed around the elders then rapidly escorted them aft. _Okay, here we go. Thank god we're finally getting off this damn boat._ The jittery uncertainty he'd been feeling since boarding the ship melted into confident, automatic responses as the vanguard passed him.

It was Yuri's shout at the front of the line which was the first suggestion that something was wrong. His booming "hold" was immediately followed by a "what the fuck". He managed "freeze or …" before everything erupted into total chaos. The line surged backwards as semi-auto shots sounded at the front, but rather than get out of the way, the rear guard, either too confident or too complacent, were caught craning their necks to see what was going on. Preston, however, turned to his training, shouting, "Fall back," and scanning rearward to keep the escape route open. That's when he saw Jackson and Wegs slump soundlessly to the ground.

_Christ!_

He shouted to his partner who turned just in time to see Grant and Pillai drop.

_Where the hell is that coming from? Oh screw this! _

He flipped the fire select on his UMP40 to full automatic and opened up on all the angles wherever his team wasn't. Hylan followed suit and the air was alive with muzzle flashes and ricochets. Seconds later they eased off their triggers only to hear that the chaos behind them had increased in intensity. Preston, followed by his partner, sprinted back to the fallback point and then out onto the bulkhead to open up the retreat and get an angle on the front of the line. The sight that greeted him held so much wrongness he wished he could un-see it.

_Oh God, what …_

It was their twisted faces that did it, that made his guts turn to water, the faces of that unholy army of dead-eyed groping figures, lurching into the column of panicking gunmen, absorbing fire but refusing to go down.

_No, no, no …_

As he brought his UMP's sight to bear on the gibbering horde, hell opened like a purging flame, obliterating the entire tableau before him in waves of concussive blasts. A hot, wet wall of air slammed into him knocking him on his back, and blotting out the world in a peaceful, mindless ringing.

An indeterminate time later, he sat up trying to orient himself, shaking his head as if it would throw off the ringing deafness. He looked up to see Hylan, already standing, bringing his weapon to bear on the port side beam. Then the light went out of the man's eyes and he slumped to the ground. Behind him an improbable vision of Valkyrie loveliness rose up, her wide, shell-shocked eyes creasing with fury as they locked on his. With the atrocity he had just seen he nearly welcomed the slashing heel that sent him falling into red oblivion.

* * *

Sarah could not process her world at the moment. Processing meant accepting the horror that existed on the deck of the ship, a horror which was not consistent with the world she believed in. So Sarah had reduced herself to a singular objective: find Chuck. Her awareness condensed to a tight line of stimulus and response: down ladder; clear; down ladder; enemy! Fire, fire! Down ladder; clear. Through it all, she kept repeating her whistled signal, waiting for his response. Finally, one level from the bottom of the hold she heard it, a wavering, almost whispered two note whistle. The relief would have overwhelmed her had she not silenced all her emotions.

"Chuck?"

She poked her head through the hatch into one of the bottom cells to find him wedged behind one of the cooling ducts for the insulated containers; only his head, shoulders, right hand, and the pistol it gripped were visible. Lying at the bottom of the cell was what looked like a spotlight at the end of a long pole as well as a prone body with what appeared to be a dented head.

"I think I killed him."

"Come on, Chuck. We have to go."

"What about Shaw? I don't know if he's …"

"Now Chuck! Lets go!"

Her shout snapped him into action and he clambered up to meet her. The shout also apparently awakened someone else as she heard a moan out in the center of the hold. A prickle of urgency ran up her back.

_No worrying, just climbing._

The moan became slurred swearing and then waiting silence. They made it a quarter of the way up the bulkhead before Shaw's voice rang out.

"I can see you, you know." His typical soulless delivery was undercut by a fervent sincerity Sarah would have doubted he had in him.

Chuck stopped in the middle of climbing but she prodded him back into motion.

"Chuck … Sarah … I can see you. Maybe for the first time, I can see you. You've been busy little deceivers, haven't you."

Sarah had to prod Chuck again.

"Well done, on that, by the way. Sarah I could believe, but I never thought you had it in you, Chuck. You always seemed so transparent. I'm going to guess she's been working on you. Good. You can't make it in this business and be bad at lying. You chose wrong though. Do you hear me, Chuck. You chose wrong. I can understand why. For a guy like you she's probably the best lay you'll ever have."

Sarah had to violently shove Chuck at the next ladder as he had stopped to reach for the gun in the waistband of his …

_Is he wearing pajamas?_

"You could have been part of the next step in human existence, Chuck. Do you realize what it is I'm doing here? You could have been one of the _architects_, not one of the feeding, breeding masses. You're a smart guy, Chuck. You've seen the disparity in human intelligence — the geniuses and the cretins, all part of our species. We can do so much with those that rise to the top but the bottom still drag us down. They have far too much influence."

_You're just full of surprises, aren't you? Never would have taken you for another messiah complex._

"Seriously? That's part of living in society, Shaw. Different strokes and all. Your only answer to that is 1984?" Chuck's response seemed get his blood pumping so Sarah held off on shushing him. "Come on, you're smart enough. How well does that authoritarian crap work in the long run? It always fails."

"That's only because of the lack of sufficient power and/or the lack of intelligence in the leaders. With the technology being developed under my watch we'll be able to control billions with a single broadcast."

Chuck uttered a single high-pitched bark of a laugh. "Good god. You think you alone are going to control a society of billions. Even mayors need a bureaucracy to run a city of thousands. How do you think you can run billions? That is honestly the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It'll be far from me alone. I mentioned the architects earlier. There are so many undervalued brilliant people among us, the ones that society has only ever notices for their ability to create the technology that plants us on our butts for sixteen hours of the day or to treat the diabetes and heart disease that this lethargy inevitably produces. Now the geniuses will finally have what they deserve, the ruling caste among the cattle."

Sarah looked up to see they were approaching the top of the bulkhead but this didn't set her mind at ease. For one thing, Shaw wasn't trying to escape the hold like she and Chuck were, but seemed to be content sitting at the bottom, giving what sounded an awful lot like a pitch he had planned to sell to his architects. She hadn't missed the fact that he was still talking about it in the present tense. For another thing, she wondered if those … things … were still wandering the deck and if Shaw had anything to do with them.

Chuck's response interrupted her thought. "_That's_ your plan. Just gather the geniuses and tell them to run things? How do you think you're going to get that many smart people to work with you ... or with each other? I mean, it's not like they'll all get along or even be civilized with each other let alone be able to run a civilization." She knew Chuck was taking this far too seriously but it kept him moving.

"It's been working so far for the Ring."

"Mm. And how long, do you think, before they become corrupt, this small group running the entire world? Are they going to be held accountable by anyone?"

"Of course. Who do you think?"

"To _you?_ You're corrupt already. And then after you're dead, then what? Are you gonna have an heir?" He waited a silent beat. "Yeah. And how many 'architects' are there going to be? You know that a small population is not a stable population, right? What happens if a plague rips through them? After a long enough time, something's eventually going to happen. So, who controls society then? Why don't you ask the former colonies how well things went when the Europeans came in, disrupted their societies and then left. This would be hundreds of times worse because you'll have stripped people of their basic humanity. What happens when the puppet strings are cut?"

They had reached the top of the bulkhead and Sarah smiled inwardly at the passion in Chuck's voice. She liked knowing that she was one of the few that knew how much was going on in that head of his. Shaw obviously hadn't planned on it as he seemed to have no response. Then she froze, looking across to the port side and seeing several heads swivel, turning their dead stares on her.

"The answer to all that, Chuck, is simple. We may just have to reduce society to a manageable number." The unflinching way he said it was nearly as alarming as the creatures now approaching. "Can you see my army, Chuck? Sarah? I can hear them up there. I think they see you."

Sarah heard Chuck's indrawn breath beside her. The deck was a mess of blood and body parts but she knew it was the lurching, grunting figures slowly making their way across the bulkhead that had his attention.

"What the fuck? Sarah, what ..."

The answer came from below. "That, Chuck, is my army. My zombie army ... I guess ... though they're really still alive. It's quite an effect, the way they move, isn't it? Wholly unintentional but still, potentially very useful."

Sarah felt a senseless panic sweep through her, numbing her limbs. They were just so … wrong. Each movement for them seemed like a tendon ripping battle, their bodies writhing with the effort, only an inhuman fixation driving them forward. Their faces crawled with half formed expressions melting into each other, all contradiction. Wet, asthmatic gusts blew from their mouths punctuated by barking growls, grunts, and expectorations, that flung saliva through the air and down their chins in twisting ropes.

"Don't worry, there's nothing left in there but what I've programmed. I don't think they feel any pain. They were lobotomized years ago when we tried the first upload and they've been sitting around in a nursing home ever since. I have to say I was surprised the CIA felt the need to keep them alive with what an embarrassment they felt the whole project was. Really, I think they were just jealous they weren't the ones to initiate it. It's not like anyone would be missing these poor creatures. They were taken from pathetic and pointless lives, then, after the failed upload, they were just just sleepy, minimally functioning vegetables. Now they have a function. Quite a difference when you load them with an imprint to kill."

Sarah raised her pistol. If they were people they could die. Then she remembered what had happened when the Ring's guards had fired into them. They kept coming and coming and then boom!

"Call them off, Shaw." She looked down into the hold, searching till she found the darker shadow among the shadows. "You know my rating with the 5906, call them off." She drew a bead on his center mass, her stainless-steel friend unwavering.

"Ah-ah, Walker." The Shaw shadow moved becoming lighter blur, almost like he'd taken his shirt off. "My army are strapped with C4 and wired to dead-man switches; I've got the master, right in here." She imagined she saw him tapping his chest. "If I go, they go … and so do you."

It was impossible to tell if Shaw knew what a mistake he had made in telling her that. A predatory look replaced her grim expression and she began backing across the bulkhead, using the low railing against her calf as a guide. Chuck kept a hand at her back, mirroring her movement. He whispered next to her ear. "What're you thinking?"

"You trust me?"

"Of course." No hesitation in his answer.

"Can you swim?"

"Lifeguard and survival swim training two years in a row in Junior High ... oh crap."

"Good. I don't have to say it then. You with me?"

"Always. I love you, sweetie." Sarah thought she heard him repeat "oh crap".

"I love you too, babe."

She kept backing towards the starboard side, throwing glances down into the hold to keep her eye on Shaw. The "zombies" seemed to accelerate with their quarry in sight, their grunts and barks becoming more clamorous. Finally, Chuck's hand increased the pressure on her back, and she realized they'd reached the hull. She squeezed his hand, keeping her eyes forward.

"Get ready. When I say go …"

"Yep."

Shaw's gloating voice came up from below. "You can't stop it. You hear me Chuck ... Sarah? It's the course of the new history."

Sarah ignored him then whispered a simple "sorry" to the once-humans before her for what she was about to do. She waited till she could feel the droplets of saliva from the lead zombie's ragged breath, then lunged forward, ducking the grasping hands and burying her shoulder into its midsection. Her momentum carried it into the two immediately behind and the three wretched things staggered, teetering on the edge of the bulkhead.

"Go!" With no hesitation Chuck leapt to the top of the hull and disappeared over the edge with Sarah only a split second behind. She heard an outraged shriek from Shaw, a sound Sarah felt sure had never before escaped Shaw's throat, and looked over her shoulder as she jumped just in time to see two of the creatures tipping over the low railing and plummeting down into the hold. Shaw had stripped them of their humanity, turning them into abominations for his fascist designs. Now the empty shells of their bodies would reap their revenge.

Behind her multiple bone-crunching detonations announced the obliteration of Shaw and the zombies and Sarah felt an exhilaration of weightless freedom. It was more than her physical weightlessness as she fell. They were free — free of the traitor, free of Beckman, and free of their doubts. In a second there would come the shock of hitting the cold water at high speed but she'd welcome it like she did her new life; Chuck would be waiting for her there.

_We made it, babe!_

He hit the water a moment before her and she had only that instant to realize the miscalculation of her jump. As her body slammed into the water she spread her arms and legs to slow her descent but it was too late. Her heel struck something hard, which gave, then fell away underneath her.

_Chuck! _

She reached down to feel for him but her hands met only empty darkness. A burning in her lungs forced her up for air and she kicked for the top, breaking the surface just as she began to see stars. She turned in circles, scanning the surface but all she could see were flickering streamers of flaming wreckage hitting the water and extinguishing with tiny hisses. Panicking she dove again, flailing with her hands at the darkness, but the channel was deep to accommodate the drafts of the huge ships. She would not find him. Again she had to head for the surface, her instincts preventing the death she wished for. This time the stars bloomed in front of her eyes several kicks before she reached air and she broke the surface, gasping. The wreckage was no longer raining down and all around, the surface of the channel remained flat and unbroken, the only sound her rasping breath and the distant wail of sirens.

* * *

**A/N**: Would you believe me if I said "sorry 'bout the cliffie"? Probably not. But you don't seriously think I would kill him off, right? Okay fine, here's a couple of lines from the next chapter:

... he'd noticed his stomach now grumbled quite a bit. Which was a bit of a surprise, as he'd always expected the afterlife to be so much less … visceral.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Wow. It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. Work, family stuff, blah blah blah. Anyway, thank you for sticking with me, those of you still reading, and heaping piles of thanks to those of you still reviewing.

This might be a tad angsty but don't worry, even though I really loved the way canon ended I have a much less ambiguous, though still happy ending planned.

Thanks again to **KateMcK** who is a fantastic beta, and a fantastic writer (go read everything she's written if you haven't ... well read this chapter first, then go read her stuff) and she gets extra, bonus cool points for getting through this on very little sleep.

* * *

Her tears made it nearly impossible to thread the needle but Sarah persisted, blinking them away as fast as they came. The ritual wasn't exactly new but today the tears were hotter and heavier than before. It was not a mystery to her why.

She felt no triumph when the thread finally passed through the eye of the needle and she arranged her task on her knee. Had there ever been any hope? After his third day missing, when she'd begun this little project, some part of her had known he wasn't coming back. That the divers had never found a body proved nothing, as the tide easily could have carried it away. She and Casey had checked hospitals, homeless shelters, encampments, all to no avail. Even if Chuck were in hiding because of something he'd learned at his meeting with the Ring Elders, he at least would have put up a signal, even a desperate message … something.

There had been nothing.

With the button now lined up over a mark she'd made on the fabric, she began slowly threading the holes. It had been five days, five buttons, since she'd started repairing the shirt she'd wrecked in her eagerness to get her hands on Chuck after their date. She wasn't the type to play these games, bargaining with herself that as long as she sewed the buttons she could keep hope alive, but there was no other recourse. For the first time in her life there was no running away.

Her father had told her early on, "Kiddo, everything you have in the world is temporary … can be taken away from you just like that." He'd palmed a quarter from his fingers to emphasize the point. "But that's okay because there's always something better around the corner." That philosophy had served her well through a lot of bad times, but despite her father's needling, she'd never completely lost her penchant for "human traps", as he'd called them. She might have come close in the CIA. Manipulating assets and watching them attempt to manipulate her — occasionally even trying to have her killed — had taught her to put her trust, not in the promises people made, but in their foibles as human beings. A part of her hated it but she'd quickly learned the trick that all workaholics knew and lived by: dominating in the workplace let you forget the emptiness. For her there had always been a new mission, new faces, and new locations.

But then had come Chuck … and Ellie too. Together they were like a gravitational singularity for lost souls. Her defenses had fallen instantly though she'd remained in denial for quite some time afterwards. Her heart knew what it wanted, regardless of the lessons she tried to teach it. And, yet, Dear Old Dad had been right. Where was Chuck now?

_Dead … and I'm the one who ended his life._

The guilt she could compartmentalize. She'd lived with guilt her whole life. The loss was another matter. She clenched her jaw as it began to quiver, breathing out a violent snort. She knew if she gave in to that sob she would be lost. Mechanically she made the last loop, tied off the thread, and snapped it off the spool.

Chuck was gone.

Furiously she stalked to her window, throwing the curtains open, but there was nothing outside, just a matte painting of the L.A. skyline. Turning around she could see that her apartment had lost all depth, another backdrop. Her whole world might as well have been an illusion and all sense of order had just fallen away. She could feel it as a tug in her gut, like free fall but there would be no ground rushing up to end it.

It took her a moment to realize she actually had fallen, sinking to the floor on the spot, her face buried in the shirt she was still clutching. A trace of Chuck's scent had survived the laundry and it insinuated itself on her consciousness. Memories lit up like a thousand taunting ghosts, all so immediate yet nothing more than history. There would be no new memories of him.

The silence of the room was split by a soft, keening wail.

* * *

Existence.

It was the only bit of consolation he could muster for the pointless, chaotic stream of sensation that marked all the time since — well, there was no point in denying it — since his death. There weren't too many ways to interpret that tattered memory of falling into freezing dark water and the violent, suffocating transition into nothingness that had followed. So he guessed this was it, the hereafter. He'd always been fairly skeptical about the concept of an afterlife but he had to admit, even if it wasn't pleasant or comprehensible, it was at least … something.

_And "something" is apparently the most stultifyingly pointless moments of my life edited together to remind me exactly how much time I wasted. Did I really spend that much time in convenience stores? Well, at least I know it's not all in my head because my imagination was never this boring._

A familiar but very out of place sound interrupted his train of thought.

_Well that's odd._

He'd begun to notice his stomach grumbling quite a bit. Which was a kind of a surprise, as he'd always expected the spirit world to be so much less … visceral. What were the rules for the dead anyway? Was there a physiology to be maintained or just a memory of it?

_Even a nerd in death. Who else would think about this stuff.  
_

This thought induced an almost audible click in his mind and he realized, unlike before, he was really contemplating his current state quite a bit, his consciousness now working at a higher level. In fact, if he thought back, it seemed like a repressive fog had slowly been rolling back, allowing him to build up an awareness of this limbo, layer upon layer, like an onion …

_Hell, not like an onion! If I'm dead I can be whatever I want. Let's see … what else has layers? Hmmm. Baklava! A pastry ghost, if you will!_ _Big Mike would like that._

The fog rolled back further with this absurd idea and he smiled, stretching his arms and back to relieve the tension in his cold achy joints.

_Wait … philo doesn't ache. And do baklavas have limbs?_

It occurred to him that, in all honesty, he made a pretty poor metaphor of a dessert. A sudden cough wracked his system and he became aware of a body … his body? He gave a mighty effort with his slowly coalescing will and commanded his hands to explore his abdomen and chest. He felt a scratchy texture under his fingertips and a memory of the RF blocking jammies came back to him.

_Sweet! I can move, but … I'm dead … aren't I? And why am I still wearing these?_

He continued his exploration upward and made a horrifying discovery. His neck and face were covered in a bristly growth of fungus sprouting straight from his skin. Unbidden, the memory of the shambling figures on the deck of the _Enterprise Dawning _dredged itself from the hole in his mind where he'd stuffed it.

_But they weren't dead. Shaw said so … or at least their bodies weren't dead. Ha! But that asshole is. Good! So … what about me? Did they just leave _me_ for dead, laying here while my face rots off? What the hell … oh … wait._ He ran his hand over his chin again. _Moron!_ Just to be sure he pulled on one of the bristles and the pinpoint twinge confirmed it.

_Chuck, you are a dumbass!_ _Well … if my beard is still growing … holy crap! Maybe I'm not dead!_

The fog dispersed completely and Chuck realized he was lying on his back with his eyes closed. He figured he could clear up quite a few things by opening them, so he did.

_Hmmmm. Nope. Doesn't help._

At least he wasn't lying on a slip of wax paper in a Greek restaurant's dessert case, but even so, what he could see was not what he had expected. Not a hospital bed, not a drunk tank, not even a dirty shoreline near the port. Instead he found himself in a shed of some sort, lit by feeble sunlight filtering through a crack under the only door. A wheelbarrow and hand cart were tipped up against the wall opposite him, various hoes and rakes were hung to his right, and a pile of gravel sat on the concrete floor in one corner.

_I guess it beats waking up in a serial killer's basement … or Jeff's van. And I'm alive so, bonus!._

He stretched out his legs and kicked something that went spinning across the floor with a hollow sound. He sat up then stared, blinking. What lay before him appeared to be the wreckage of a week-long videogame bender. Empty bottles of Gatorade and soda, including the one he'd kicked, lay strewn amid piles of opened plastic bags, devoid of the Cheetos, Doritos, beef jerky, and pork rinds they had previously contained. Any remnants were in the process of being carted off by trails of ants that seemed to think they'd found the Promised Land.

_What the hell? _He jumped up, brushing and slapping at his clothes, a corner of his mind registering a crinkling stiffness under the shirt and pants. _I guess this explains the tummy rumbling … and the game-night's worth of death-breath. _He ran his tongue over his teeth and shuddered_. An industrial pressure washer might not be overkill. And what the hell is under my shirt?_

He reached under, pulling out sheaves of newspaper and scratching at the itchy spots they left behind. _Huh. For warmth, I guess._ The feeble light in the shed wasn't sufficient to read any dates so he crossed to the door, stumbling on an unseen pile of something on the way there. He paused for a moment before opening, wondering if he would want to see what was on the other side, then flinched at the white brilliance as he threw the door wide.

Like opening his eyes had previously, opening the door did nothing to enlighten him. He was in a park of some sort, evidenced by the picnic tables, barbecue pits, trees and footpaths surrounding the shed. Spanish and English graffiti sharpied onto the tables' surfaces suggested he was still in Southern California though the park wasn't one he'd been to previously. He looked down at the paper he was holding, Random Lengths, a weekly he didn't recognize though it claimed to serve the L.A./Long Beach Harbor community.

_Didn't go too far, apparently._

It was dated the third, though by the looks of the pages, it had been under his shirt for a while. He pulled at a few more of the papers, revealing an L.A. Times with the date …

_Holy tap-dancing Batman! Seven days! I've been gone for seven days? _By the looks of it, this paper wasn't fresh either so he guessed it might have been longer than that. _How in the hell …_

He turned back to the shed and began counting the bottles and food wrappers. Then his eyes fell on the pile of objects he'd stumbled over — a pile of wallets.

_Oh god!_

In the back of his mind he'd begun creating a narrative where some Good Samaritan homeless person had been nursing him back to health but, at the site of all the wallets, no doubt stolen and empty of cash, and the absence of evidence of any another person, a far more disturbing scenario began coming together. It was not something he wanted to, or even could, contemplate at the moment so he turned around and began walking stiffly, steering towards what appeared to be the largest footpath. The sounds of road traffic coming from the direction it led told him he was likely headed towards an exit.

He shivered, picking up his pace. The chill was more noticeable outside than in the shed and the November sun gave a lot more light than heat. No wonder the afterlife had seemed so cold. Walking unfortunately did little to warm him and even less to quiet his now quite active mind. Implications compounded on complications as he thought about his loved ones and the amount of time since …

_No!_ His mind filled in the moments before he'd lost consciousness in the channel, jumping off the ship with Sarah following_._ He vaguely recalled something traumatic had happened then dark emptiness._ She must have landed on me and … god … she must think she killed me! And Ellie … have they told her anything? There's nothing she hates more than not knowing … and being lied to._ Then he felt a freezing gust blow through his abdomen._ Dad! Shaw sent someone to kill Dad … seven days ago!_

Chuck quickened his pace further so that he was jogging by the time he reached the parking lot and exit from the park. He rounded a sign by the entrance, hoping it would give him a clue to his location.

_Ken Malloy Harbor Regional Park … hmmm. Don't recognize it._ He closed his eyes, concentrating on the name in a way that sometimes activated the Intersect. He had only a moment to realize how bad an idea this was. With deafening silence, black, billowing death rose before him, an impenetrable, mind-erasing lahar thundering through his brain, swallowing all sight, sound, and thought. In a blink, Chuck left the flow of time.

* * *

_Hmmm, I recognize that voice. Don't know what the hell he's saying, but it's familiar. And what's this? Bottles of Gatorade? Now that's definitely familiar. Weird. Is there someone standing there? Looks like it but I can't quite see … maybe just lean a little closer and … gah! Sasquach!_

This time the transition was much quicker and Chuck realized he was staring at his rather wild looking reflection in the glass of a deli case full of sports drinks. He did a slow turn, taking in his surroundings, seeing the mix of junk food, energy drinks and beer that defined a convenience store.

_What the hell is happening to me? I'm going crazy, aren't I? Or is it brain damage … dementia?_

_Hey! Don't freak out, Chuck._ Sarah's voice in his head. _Work backwards. What was the last thing you remember? _

_Well … I tried to flash on the name of that park and then … oh god._ The suspicion he'd had back at the shed began to solidify.

"Had enough of the Gatorade yet, buddy?" The voice startled him out of his reverie. It was familiar but speaking in English this time, tinted with an accent that, without the Intersect, he could only classify as generically African or maybe Middle Eastern. He looked down the aisle to the cash register behind which was an oddly familiar smiling face, peering at him.

Chuck opened his mouth and croaked then gave it a second try. "Uh … hi. Can you tell me where …" He trailed off as the man's smile dropped into open mouthed surprise and then nearly jumped when he shouted.

"Nadif, come quick!"

Another dark-skinned man rounded the corner from the back of the store, peering over a clipboard. "Ah-ha, Sean of the Dead. Standing in front of the Gatorade again, I see. It's a big decision my friend. Pick wisely." There was a hint of bored sarcasm in his voice. He turned to the other man. "It's not as entertaining as it used to be, Dalmar. Call me if he starts reciting the Koran or something."

Chuck turned back to the first man, Dalmar, who then motioned to him expectantly, though Chuck had no idea for what. Dalmar's shoulders fell in disappointment. "And now he's silent again. I swear to you he spoke, just before I called you."

Nadif gave Chuck a more critical appraisal. "He does almost look alive today."

"Um … I _am_ alive. Look could either of you …" Chuck stopped again, this time cut off by the smack of Nadif's clipboard as it fell to the ground.

"He speaks!" Nadif was peering up at Chuck with wonder.

"That's what I was trying to tell you." Dalmar was smiling again, now that he was vindicated.

"What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. I was talking to him like usual and then and then …" He made a sock puppet talking motion. "Hey, Buddy, do you know where you are?"

Looking back and forth between the two, Chuck realized he really was going insane but answered anyway out of politeness. "In a convenience store? Look, I'm having a confusing day and … Sean of the Dead?"

"Yeah, like the movie. You walk in every other day like …" Nadif mimed the universal dead-eyed shamble of a zombie.

Chuck felt a sinking feeling as the description confirmed his suspicion. He literally was on his way to losing his mind. "Well technically, Sean was never a zombie but … never mind. How long has this been going on?"

"Ha! I told you, Dalmar. He didn't hear or see a thing. But he's better now. Aren't you glad you didn't shoot …"

Dalmar interrupted quickly, clearing his throat. "Every other day you come in … no talking, just grab a drink, packet of beef jerky or chips, pay and go. Hmmm, how long you think, Nadif?"

"First day you came in was" — he appeared to do a mental tally — "the ninth. I started counting after the fourth day you came in."

Chuck nearly lapsed back into the black fog trying to do the simple arithmetic, his brain apparently needing some recovery time. "What's the date today?"

"The fourteenth."

_Fucksticks! Almost two weeks? Two damn weeks! _"Wait, what month is it?"

Dalmar made a coughing sound and Nadif just shook his head. "Buddy. Take it from me. These things you're putting into your body … I don't think this is a good life for you."

"What, Gatorade?"

This stole a reflexive snort from Dalmar but Nadif remained serious. "Okay, my man, you want to be like that? You won't listen to me? Fine. You seem like an okay guy to me ... pay for what you take, never try to steal, but I've see some junkies come through here … never one as gone as you were. These drugs will rot your brain. You should see a doctor. Dalmar, what about your cousin?"

"Jaajuumow? He's an idiot and a quack. Friend, you need clinical help. There's Keiser up on Vermont … just walk out the door make a left and …"

"Thank you." Chuck had already begun walking for the door, though he had no intention of going to a hospital.

_Two fucking weeks?_

"Good luck, my man … and stop taking those drugs."

The tinkling of the bell over the door as he left reminded Chuck of a certain frozen yogurt shop and its proprietress. A moment later he popped his head back in. "Do you guys sell toothpaste?"

* * *

_Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

After an eternity riding the 550 bus into south central — Chuck had to thank Sarah's foresight in making him memorize L.A.'s public transit system … such as it was — Chuck had gotten off to make the transfer to the 220. He'd walked to a McDonalds a few blocks away, suddenly ravenous, and found a payphone there — something he was beginning to think no longer existed. Of course he hadn't been able to stop himself from calling Sarah, and, of course, it had gone straight to voice mail. He'd listened to the beep and stood there with his mouth hanging open, the silence over the line eventually turning into an accusation — _where were you?_ What could he say? She had to think he was dead after two weeks and, really, coming back from the dead was something one needed to do in person. Especially when the explanation was as bizarre as this.

Now, finishing his soda and heading back to the bus stop on Hill Street, it occurred to him that he had no information on how things had resolved after the business on the _Enterprise Dawning_. They'd taken out a lot of the Ring's elite guard and possibly the Elders themselves, judging by the mess he'd seen on the deck, and Shaw was now shark food, hopefully. The rest of the Ring and Shaw's scientist, however, were still a threat. Was Sarah in trouble? Would _he_ be in trouble if he just showed up out of the blue? Would anyone still be looking for him … for instance the someone driving the old green Ford Bronco that had just screeched to a halt on MLK seconds after passing him?

_Fuckity fuck!_

When the reverse lights came on, Chuck didn't hesitate and turned, sprinting in the opposite direction. The slippers that the Ring guards had given him to wear two weeks earlier did little to protect his feet from the abuse but Chuck ignored the pain. He'd gone through too much to end up in the Ring's hands again.

"Charles, stop!"

Chuck's body froze, his feet rooted to the concrete.

"Dad?" He turned to see the familiar, now bearded face through the Bronco's window and felt an enormous weight drop from his shoulders. He flung the Bronco's door open, leapt across the passenger seat and threw his arms around the man, undaunted by his awkwardness.

In a slightly strangled voice his father spoke rapidly. "Where have you been? I was almost sure I'd lost you, then, out of the blue, there's a call to Sarah's cell from a payphone. I didn't think it could be you, but I hoped … and here you are! You look awful … you smell awful too. Son, don't you know everyone thinks you're dead?" His father finally returned the affection, clapping his son on the back.

"God, dad, I'm so glad to see you're alive."

"_Me_? Why would you think … oh … yes. I'm assuming you're talking about Mr. Shaw's friend Weizhe Liang."

Chuck nodded. Wager had been the one Taproot operator unaccounted for.

His father straightened, ostensibly to get the Bronco moving again, but Chuck could see tension in the set of the man's jaw. Then the mask broke into a sly smile and he leaned towards Chuck conspiratorially. "Old age and treachery will triumph over youth, every time." Chuck laughed, a fleeting, warm memory momentarily peeking through his anxiety. The "old age and treachery" bit was something his dad had used often in those moments when he found time to be a father, playing board games with his kids. Now it apparently applied to dealing with assassins. Chuck's half smile fell away.

His mind quickly returned to its anxieties. "So, Sarah noticed the payphone call and sent you? Why wouldn't she …" His brain caught up a moment later. "You intercepted the call, didn't you?"

"Yeah, kind of. I had some faint hope you were still alive and I wanted to get to you before anyone else. But I needed to stay off the grid so I used an IMIS catcher and spoofed her handset."

"Is Sarah okay?"

"As far as I know."

Chuck slumped back into his seat as he became aware he'd been hovering at the edge. "So how'd you spoof her phone? She's got, like, ridiculous encryption."

His father only repeated his earlier sly smile.

"Okay, now I'm curious. You gonna tell me where you got the resources for that?"

"I'll do you one better. I'll show you." Chuck didn't return his fathers eager smile, as it occurred to him that "I'll show you" meant "right now". The man had just taken the exit for the 10 east instead of continuing north to Chuck's apartment.

"Um … do you think maybe I could go see Sarah, Ellie, and Morgan first? Let them know I'm not dead. I really need to …"

"That's a bad idea, Charles." He said it flatly, the topic apparently not open for discussion. Chuck opened his mouth to reply but his father beat him to it. "I've got a cabin a little ways outside Big Bear and that's were we're headed. In the mean time I want to hear where you've been and all about how you and Sarah stirred up the hornets nest."

"Damn it, Dad! I …"

His father cut him off like he hadn't even spoken. "I've never had so much heat coming my way … from the Ring, the NSA, the CIA … probably the FBI and US Marshals as well. I don't know what you did but it has gotten ugly. And if they thought you were still alive, they'd probably want you just as badly. You can't trust the government when they want you that much. It's too dangerous to just go running back without knowing what's going on. You can't trust any of them."

"But Sarah …"

"She's one of them, Son."

Chuck recognized the brittleness in his mental state as he suddenly wanted to strangle the man he'd been hugging only minutes before. He wanted to shout that, between the two of them, _Sarah_ was the one who had stayed, who was always there for him. Then the strangest thing happened instead. He felt a steel door slide home, walling off his emotions, leaving him with a serene focus he usually only felt when writing code or building servers, just his objectives in mind.

_Just like a spy._

Sarah would have thumped him for using that word but otherwise she would have agreed. He was an intelligence officer — almost an intelligence officer — and he needed intelligence. His dad likely had the answers. The argument with the man, and if it came to it, forcing his way out of the car, would have to wait till after. Chuck blew out a long sigh. The experiences he'd had before had only given him an academic understanding of the things Sarah hated about the intelligence game. This gave him a new appreciation. Sometimes you didn't get to be a human being.

His father seemed to take his silence as assent. "You'll like the cabin. It's got a great view of sunsets, an electronics workshop, gear to make a SigInt geek drool …"

Chuck cut him off, his patience short despite his enforced calm. "You want to know where I've been, Dad? Wandering the harbor district."

"For two weeks?"

"Yup."

To Chuck's complete surprise, his father became thoughtful, nodding. "Aces Charles. I don't know how you evaded the search, but aces. That takes quite a bit of heat off you now that they think you're dead. Poor Ellie, though. She's so confused. No one has told her anything. Sarah's kept her mouth shut and since they gave up the search for you, she's been almost unreachable."

"You've talked to Ellie?"

There was no answer and Chuck turned, scanning his father's face, seeing the guilt there. "You were spying on her, weren't you?"

The flush was almost instant. "I was worried about her! We've both put her in quite a bit of danger."

It was Chuck's turn to feel heat on his face thinking about Ellie's glazed stare, the bloody bat in her hand. "God, I really owe her an apology … and Devon and Morgan too."

"We could both apologize for quite a lot, couldn't we? Doesn't mean much though if we just turn around and do the same thing again. Son, why the _hell_ did you put another Intersect in your head?"

Chuck wasn't at all prepared for the outburst. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice! Well, okay, I did have a choice but I would have been dead a few minutes later if I hadn't downloaded it. Damn it, Dad, you weren't there!" _Crap! So much for calm and focused._

"Okay, okay. You're right; I wasn't there. You've been making all your own decisions for a long time now. It's just … it took a lot of work to get the last one out of your head and this one … I don't know all of what went into it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, it's not all based off of my designs. You notice anything different about this one?"

"Umm … yeah. You could say there's a difference. I'm pretty sure I didn't know kung fu … or how to speak several languages, … or how to play the guitar, pick locks, and pull j-turns at forty miles an hour before I got this latest Intersect. _That_, you might say, is a …"

"Fucking idiots! Brainless god damn toads!" If Chuck wasn't prepared for the previous outburst, he nearly wet himself with this one. "They went with Bas' bullshit even after I warned them … even after he was fired. Bunch of unoriginal, mindless followers, all of them!"

"Whoa … okay. You're scaring me here. Mind filling me in?"

"Fucking Bas!" His father took a steadying breath then continued in a normal voice. "It all started with the idea of autopilot functionality. I told them the Intersect's access to motor function should be limited. You know, backdoor it through the anterior cingulate gyrus. Bas though … he was always talking about pushing it to the next level. Of course he wanted complete access to the motor cortex, prefrontal cortex, basically all the executive centers. But why do that and risk the possibility of the Intersect taking executive control? Especially with the Intersect's fidelity …"

"Dad!" His father blinked several times as if woken from a dream. "You might as well have been talking to yourself just now since I really didn't understand any of that." Though the mention of the Intersect taking over executive control was not lost on him.

"Sorry. Just brought up a lot of old arguments and bad memories."

"Apparently. How about you start out with who Bas is?"

This elicited a snort of derision. The hands gripping the steering wheel flexed. "Bas van Breeda." His father said the name like an epithet. "That's a name you shouldn't repeat but you ought to know. His code name was Auriga."

Chuck winced, his fingers halfway to his ears. If the flash had come he would have been too late but apparently van Breeda and Auriga had been deleted from the Intersect.

"Bas took over Cloudbank — the imprinting matrices, Intersect encoding protocols, all of that technology — after I left. In fact, Bas was the reason I left. He was a real sociopath, the kind that almost justifies Hollywood script-writers with how they always write scientists as amoral and evil. But he was fantastic at manipulating people so it took us all quite a while to realize what kind of person he was."

"Which was …"

"Let me put it this way, I would not be exaggerating in saying that he and Hitler spoke the same language. For Bas it wasn't racial purity, it was what he called 'the new evolution of humanity'. Culling the herd, dividing the labor of society into separately bred castes, crazy stuff like that."

"Jesus! That's the same crap Shaw was peddling."

"Shaw?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you about that in a second. I want to hear about what Nerd Hitler put inside my brain."

"Nerd Hitler …" He shook his head, a ghost of a smile there. "Well, Charles, it's all speculation since it's impossible to do a forensic study on the Intersect without a clean copy …"

"But if you had to guess …"

"Like I said, it all began with the autopilot functions. It's not as ambitious as it sounds, by the way, at least not when we were just kicking ideas around, which is about when I left the project. We just realized at one point that, with the increasing stress the Intersect puts on the brain as we added functionality, subjects might be more likely to lose consciousness. We figured there needed to be a way for the Intersect to take limited control of basic motor functions if a subject lost consciousness in a life-threatening situation. It was really simple stuff, like avoiding falling on hard objects or surfacing to breath when underwater, evading an attacker … that kind of thing."

_Or pickpocketing to subsist off of junk food in a grounds keeper's shed?_

"I always argued that we needed to use a backdoor strategy, essentially using danger avoidance patterns already built into the brain. Going through the cingulate cortex could activate those without the problem of bleed through into the executive centers, motivation pathways, major dopamine pathways in the PFC, and …"

"Dad! Ellie's the neurobiology nerd, not me."

"Sorry again. Um … imagine your executive centers are what you think of as 'you': the driver's seat, planning, imagining, that kind of thing. I wanted a wall between the Intersect and those parts of your brain. Bas wanted to knock that wall down. If you're saying the Intersect gives you all sorts of physical and linguistic abilities now, I'm thinking he succeeded."

"Wait … so you're saying the Intersect is gonna take over!"

"No, not like that. Even if Bas was reckless with Intersect subjects, the rest of the team wasn't. Well they were reckless enough to follow some of his ideas after he was fired but I know they weren't dumb enough to leave out safeguards … maybe not a wall but at least a fence, if you want to think of it like that. At the moment I think you're safe."

"At the moment?"

"Well, Charles, the thing I'm worried about is the Intersect's data integrity and fidelity functions. You see, memories can be a fairly plastic thing. Each time you remember something your brain recreates the same pattern as when you originally made the memory. It's like forming the memory again. It's worse before the memory traces migrate to the PFC from the hippocampus … sorry! I know, I know. Umm, basically, each time you remember something there's the chance new connections are made with the memory traces. Corruption of the data. This would be disastrous for the Intersect since each flash could potentially corrupt the file, so the memory recall algorithms include a bit for data integrity. Beyond that, though, there are systems in place to deal with fidelity in the event of minor brain damage. This is the thing that makes me nervous. If you go and give your head a hard enough knock, a severe concussion or something like that, the systems could get overwhelmed and start rewiring things. If the wall between the Intersect and your executive centers gets torn down … I'm sure you can see that rewiring could be a problem."

"So … I just gotta make sure I don't get any concussions?"

"Exactly! I would say that's of extreme importance."

_Fuckity fuck! I'm going to guess getting two in one week is doupleplus ungood._ "Let's say I get knocked in the head. What happens then?"

"Who knows? Depends on the amount of damage, what kind, and where. It could be anywhere from corrupted memories to the Intersect taking your motivations and memories and its own data, putting them into a blender and pushing puree."

"Thanks for the visual." _Crap!_ "Do you think it could ever take over? You know, turn me into a robot?"

"Maybe. The Intersect is passive, for the most part, waiting for you to activate it. To take over it would need a set of motivations like the autopilot functions. You'd need the combination of a strong concussion and then a survival situation activating the …" His father stopped speaking, staring straight ahead.

Chuck huffed a single snicker. "Yeah. You see the problem too? For a bunch of smart guys I'm surprised they didn't see that one coming. In this business, getting hit on the head usually involves a life threatening situation."

"This makes me wish I'd never left the project … but it's not like they would have listened to me anyway."

"Okay, so say I do get a bad concussion and my brains do get scrambled. Is there anything you can do about it?"

"Son, it's best not to wait for that to happen. The way the fidelity functions attempt to repair damage can be chaotic and impossible to undo without destroying memories and parts of your personality."

_So I'm stuck like this. Great._

"Look, I think the thing to do is to get the specs for the latest Intersect so I can build an imprint matrix to take it out of your head. I know it won't be easy to get those specs, maybe even bordering on treason, but you can't live your life worrying you might become a vegetable if your head gets tapped. The other thing we need to do is track down Bas. If you think there's a chance he hooked up with someone like Shaw then he's actively trying to make his crazy ideas into a reality. I don't want to see intersected zombies wandering the streets."

Chuck stared out the window for a few seconds, chewing his lip. "Umm … so about that …"

* * *

"Keep the change."

Chuck handed the cabbie a couple of twenties snickering at the private irony of the exchange. Paying for things with cash was something he almost exclusively did when trying to remain covert whereas now he was about to tell the world he was still alive.

Coming back to life was an issue that had not gone over well with his father. Chuck had asked him to stop at a gas station so he could use the bathroom though in reality he'd just wanted to find his way home. His father had pulled over just short of the gas station, however, and Chuck had seen that look on his face. He knew. The disappointment on the man's features had been heartbreaking, making him look old and defeated.

"I'd hoped for so long that the intelligence game wouldn't change you, son, that you would stay the same, straightforward, honest person I used to know." His jaw had worked for a moment, holding back a shout or maybe tears. "Were you planning on saying goodbye or were you just going to disappear?"

"It's not like that, Dad! I just needed you to stop driving while we talked. Every mile farther away from Sarah feels like the life draining right out of me. She's my life now. I _have_ to see her."

"Damn it, Charles! Do you think it was easy for me to leave you and Ellie when I did? I _understand_ how hard it is but you have to consider more than just the short game. Who else do you think Bas might have manipulated? Another officer in the CIA, maybe administration, a politician … Beckman?"

Chuck's laughter was detached and cynical. "Dad, no one manipulates the General."

"Hmmm." His father had met his eyes for a moment and Chuck had been intrigued at the baffling mix of emotions he'd seen there. Then the weariness had crept back. "I can't keep you from going, and, as much as it kills me, I wouldn't ever want to force you into doing something you don't want. I just wish you'd consider what the two of us could accomplish together. We have so much to learn from each other and I can't stand to think about what would happen if one of Bas' dupes got their hands on you."

Chuck had seen then exactly just how lonely and powerless his father felt. Seeing it from that perspective he realized he had no right to judge his father for spying on Ellie. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I love you. I really do … and I wish working with you and being in Burbank with Sarah were compatible at the moment but … look, she and I aren't always going to be on the front lines. We've talked about it … about the things we want. And you won't always have to be a ghost." Chuck had almost felt like adding that the L.A. river might someday teem with sturgeon and the 101 might someday be drivable at rush hour too but had kept it to himself.

Now as he walked through the gate into El Cabrillo's courtyard he prayed that the glimpse he'd gotten of his father waving from the old Bronco, leaving him to call a cab on a burner in the parking lot of a Popeye's in East L.A., would not be his last. He'd never forgive himself for leaving things the way he had.

Chuck stalled in the courtyard, taking a deep breath._ I wonder how I do this. Morgan's probably still at work. Casey's … well … possibly gone now that "project moron" has probably been terminated. Ellie or Awesome could be home … though they'd take one look at me, shut the door, and call the police. Maybe a shower and a quick trim first._

As he crawled into his room through the Morgan Door he had the odd experience of feeling like an intruder. It didn't seem like his room anymore. Though the Tron poster was still in place, many of his things were missing, probably in the boxes he now saw next to the bed. His closet had been cleaned out as well, though fortunately he found a favorite shirt, a pair of jeans, his black jacket and — _thank god_ — his chucks in one of the boxes next to the bed. No underwear, unfortunately.

The shower came first, and the pristine rush of endorphins elicited by the stream of hot water was easily competitive with great sex. The feeling of clean teeth on the other hand — he'd brushed them twice, just to make sure — was incomparable. He didn't bother with a full shave but trimmed the gnarly fungus back with the clippers, enough so that he wouldn't be confused with a yeti.

Ready to face the living and even rejoin them he stopped by the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. As he opened the door, his eyes registered something very wrong there, fluttering under a magnet. He quickly closed the door, staring. The bulletin read:

_Friends, family, and loved ones. Please join us in remembering a man who was taken from us far too soon: Charles Irving Bartowski, We will be holding a memorial service at the north end of Echo Park Lake at 7:30pm on November 14th. _

Chuck stopped reading, eyes darting to the clock on the microwave.

_No! You've got to be kidding. I couldn't have planned this any worse. This is _not _gonna to look good._

He had to admit, though, that it did solve the problem of how to tell everyone he was still alive. He was out the door seconds later grabbing his keys before he left. He was just past the fountain when it occurred to him that someone else had to have hung his keys on the rack since they had been in his pocket when he'd been strip searched two weeks before. He could only imagine the motivation, maybe in some vain hope that he would be coming back.

_I'm so sorry, guys._

As he speed-walked his way down Rosemont he noticed that is was actually quite a pleasant evening for mid November, not bad weather at all for a memorial service. Wearing proper clothes instead of the pajama version of a tinfoil hat made all the difference. He picked up his pace, transitioning into a light jog and was happy to feel that the two-week junk food diet hadn't completely destroyed his body.

The route to the park was a familiar one as it made up one leg of his daily morning jog, but tonight it seemed different. Maybe it was because he'd been gone so long or maybe it was just the darkness, but for some reason, just like his bedroom, it felt like an altered version of normal. The bizarre day he'd had certainly didn't dispel that impression.

As he reached Glendale Boulevard, just across the street from the park, he wondered at the odd choice of location for his memorial. The place had been a bit of a mess lately and there'd been haggling over how it should get cleaned up. He wondered if it had been a last minute choice and, if so, what might have precipitated it. Then a disquieting thought occurred to him.

_Sarah wouldn't be hanging around with me gone. She's probably heading back to D.C. soon if she hasn't already._

He crossed the street and was confronted with a scene that seemed almost faerie in it's otherworldliness. A swarm of tiny, swaying, orange lights floated in the darkness, reflecting off the water and winking as they peaked through the screen of palm trees. Now with more care, he rounded the western horn of the lake, seeing people outlined in the warm orange glow of the tiny lamps. Attention to this sort of esthetic detail had Ellie written all over it. Profound grief or not she would have had the affair organized with taste and military efficiency, and from what he could see so far, it was quite nice.

He approached the knot of people — a larger turnout than he would have expected — trying to pick Sarah, Ellie, and Morgan out of the group, thought they were likely at the front on the opposite side of the crowd. Still, there were those he recognized, Buy Morians and other denizens of the mall representing. He flanked the group to the right, catching sight of a familiar figure at the front, facing the rest. The little man opened his mouth to speak and his voice cracked with emotion in a way that reminded Chuck of dark times in middle school.

Chuck could tell the moment Morgan saw him, his strained features falling into open-mouthed bafflement, then disbelief. He wondered what would be going through his own head if he'd been standing in his friend's shoes, maybe thinking he'd seen a ghost. The bearded chin bobbed up and down once, twice, and then a strangled cry emerged that sounded very much like "buddy?"

The melancholy peace of the scene was broken in a susurration of murmurs as all heads turned in Chuck's direction at once. He was surprised to find he'd never felt more naked and embarrassed in his life. How could he explain to everyone where he'd been? He'd had all that time on the bus, on the cab ride, in the shower, to think up a story to tell those who couldn't know about the Intersect, and now his mind was entirely blank. The silence was palpably awkward, both Chuck and his mourners caught in a staring contest, and he realized it was expected of him to be the first to blink. Nothing coming to mind, he fell back on his default response from high school when struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hi?"

Instantly the spell that held the crowd in thrall was shattered, dropping Fernando to the ground in a dead faint and releasing the rest into buzzing chaos. Morgan leapt at his best friend, wrapping Chuck with a strength that shocked him and Casey was a moment behind with an expression halfway between outrage and bewilderment. He raised his fist as if to emphasize his next words with violence, but instead, pulled the Chuck/Morgan huddle into a lightning-quick, slapping hug that would have saved either if they had been choking.

"You … are going to explain this!"

The slightly uneven rumble lacked its normal menace, and a moment later Casey turned his back to the crowd, stalking away. Chuck would wonder later if the man might have been suffering from allergies. When he turned back he saw Ellie before him, face pale as the ghost he was supposed to be, her features in a war between fear, sadness, anger, and betrayal, eventually landing on relief. She reached out tentatively and Chuck grabbed her hand, pulling her to his side next to Morgan who had yet to let go. His touch, the final confirmation of his solidity, released the dam and Ellie's tears followed, bringing an empathetic stream of his own. The questions were still there between them, a dark look from Devon emphasizing that fact as he wrapped them all in his customary Awesome group hug, but those questions could wait.

What couldn't wait was wading through the throng of people to reach that beloved, pale, gold-haloed face he'd been thinking about from the moment he'd regained consciousness. Sarah seemed frozen, having made no move to approach him, her face a thunderstruck mask. He twisted in the circle of arms that gripped him, needing to get to her, to reassure. Freeing himself, he took a step in her direction and the mask fell to reveal, not recognition, love, or relief, but utter panic. He took another step and her body tensed as if for escape. Didn't she understand? He was alive; they could be together! He just needed get to her and hold her.

"Sarah, sweetie, it's me. I'm okay."

He took another step towards her and her paralysis snapped. She stumbled backwards scrabbling for balance, her cat-like grace, the very essence of her, lost in her desperation. Then, without a sound, she turned and fled into the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm currently writing "I will not end the next chapter on a cliffie" a hundred times on the black board.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N**: Well, seeing as I'm sitting here in Paradise for the first night of a week-long vacation I probably should probably feel bad for dumping all this mountain of angst on you faithful readers (okay, the one of you left after that 4 month hiatus). The only thing I can say is that the next chapter is written and currently being betaed by the awesomely fantastic **KateMcK**, and you may be happier with that one. Speaking of Kate, she did a fantastic job with this chapter so direct all hate mail towards me, not her. Okay, here it is.**_  
_**

* * *

_What the hell was that, Walker?_

The mindless terror had receded leaving her huddled on the grass, hidden in the shadows at the tip of Echo Lake's quiet little island. There wasn't much point in trying to convince herself that the shaking in her limbs and the little puddle of vomit in front of her were solely due to the shock of seeing Chuck back from the dead. The fact alone that she had panicked and trapped herself on an island with only one bridge for an exit hinted at an unhinged mental state.

It didn't make any sense. She'd been stoic, standing next to Ellie, watching the ceremony unfold as if she were miles above it. She wouldn't have called it peaceful exactly but … casual, each person playing their expected role, not a single unforeseen moment. Even the resentment in each of Ellie's glances was as it should have been. Sarah had taken the blame for everything, the mysterious woman who had betrayed Ellie's trust, taken her brother from her, and now couldn't explain why. If it gave Ellie a modicum of peace, not having to blame her brother for anything, Sarah would have gladly been the target of all that frustration. Everything had been in order and under control … and then he had showed up.

There had been no joy, relief, or even anger. These were the things a normal, well-adjusted person would have felt, but for her there was only a howling vortex of fear and loss, drawing her towards an abyss she knew had no bottom. She'd first felt that tempest four days before when she'd forced herself to accept Chuck's death.

She'd laid there, weeping, crumpled on the floor, holding that shirt with the trace of him on it. For the first time in her life she'd been rendered completely powerless against an entire population of anxieties, first bolting to her feet as her room began to collapse in on her but then shrinking from her doorway when the hall stretched into an impossibly open space with too many unseen alcoves. She'd closed her eyes, raging at herself for control to no avail. She'd lived her entire life as a professional, planning ahead for everything in work or play, but she was utterly unprepared for this.

Quickly she'd realized her sanity wouldn't last with this violent lurching from terror to rage to emptiness and had seen only one hope: burning away all those aspirations and dreams — love, family, a home — closing the door on all those warm memories, again climbing to 30,000 feet to watch life play out from there. She'd clung to this plan like the sole piece of flotsam in the ocean and gradually felt the pain in her chest diminish. By the next day she'd believed she'd even attained some degree of equilibrium, and by the morning before the memorial she'd convinced herself she was once again ruler over herself.

She'd obviously been deluded.

A fluttering of wings and a staccato splashing startled her from her thoughts, a water bird resettling itself in another part of the lake. She found she was still panting, damp with sweat, and she gritted her teeth in frustration.

_This isn't _me_, damn it! Other people freak out, _not_ me._

She clenched all the muscles from the back of her neck to her toes then released, launching into her calm breathing routine: _nothing matters, everything ends, just exist until you don't …_

It had changed somewhat in the last few days.

She waited for the anesthetic balm to creep down her spine and over her nerve endings, leaving only a wasted remainder of the storm inside. Her breathing and pulse slowed and the shaking in her limbs stilled. After several more breaths, she was ready to go back and face … whatever there was to face.

"Hi."

The word was like a thunderclap. Chuck's voice brought the storm roaring back, making her breath hitch in her chest. Then, almost like a reflex, the deathly numbness settled over her again. Her mind cast about in the vacuum of emotions, finding a single small spark. She held onto it like a wavering match, whirled and squared off with him, fists balled at her sides. He stood a couple paces back, hesitant, pressing his lips together in that expression of concern she had, at one time, found cute.

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Her detached calm left the words arid and deadly quiet.

"God, Sarah. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how you …"

"No you can't. Just answer the question." She saw him flinch at the withering desiccation in her voice.

"Look, it's complicated."

"No. It's _not_ complicated. You're still standing here; you still exist. We're not living in one in one of your sci-fi movies so you were _somewhere_ for the last twelve days. Don't lie to me." She made the words into icy little daggers, sinking them into his flesh.

"I would never lie to you!" Frustration flashed briefly across his face, not the guilt she was expecting. "You won't understand, but I've been down near the harbor the whole …"

"For two weeks?" A hysterical note tried to work its way into her voice but she fought it. "Not one signal in two weeks? We were partners, Chuck." The words brought a ghost of an ache, like a hurt that had scarred over long ago.

"I would have come right back to you if I could have, but I was unconscious …"

"How …"

"Damn it! Let me explain!" He lowered his voice, scanning their surroundings then continued. "I'm pretty sure, when we jumped off that ship, that you fell on … um … that there was an accident and I got knocked out. I would have drowned but the Intersect saved me."

"What?" She didn't mask her disbelief.

"Sarah, I wasn't _me_ for the last twelve days. I was … I guess you could say, in a coma. I only woke up this morning. "

"Impossible. Who took care of you? We checked all the hospitals, homeless camps, everything."

He took a deep breath before responding. "The Intersect … it had control of my body the whole time. Took care of feeding me and keeping me warm … -ish. I was like those things we saw on the ship. Maybe a little less twitchy and slobbery."

She gaped at him, feeling like he'd just driven them off a cliff. "What?" It was barely a whisper. The anger was suddenly bleeding off of her in waves.

"I know, it sounds ridiculous. I didn't even want to believe it, but there were witnesses. I can prove it too. It takes over when I try to flash now. At least it did this morning. Oh, and I talked to my dad."

"Your Dad?"

"Yeah. Turns out he'd still been looking for me because he knew there was a possibility the Intersect could have kept me alive. He found me over by the Coliseum. Apparently he'd predicted this sort of thing might happen in …"

"Wait, I thought you were in the harbor." His story was so far out of her wheelhouse at the moment she could only latch on to the most mundane details.

"That's where I woke up, but I took a bus. I was trying to get home. I was trying to get to you, sweetie. I wanted to see you in person, so I could explain things instead of telling you this crazy story over the phone. I'm so sorry about showing up like I did. That wasn't fair to you. I swear I didn't want to …" He trailed off. "Sarah? You okay?"

She had sunk back to the grass, her head shaking, mimicking the refrain in her head. The whole world had gone insane, including her. Poor Chuck was probably fighting just to keep it together, first discovering he'd been a marionette for two weeks, and then coming back to find that his girlfriend had gone nuts. Intellectually she knew what it must be doing to him, but, with her anger now drained away, she was devoid of all emotions except maybe a vague discomfort at being so close to him. She saw him step towards her and her disquiet grew into a crawling anxiety, a habituated awareness of the void she knew awaited her if she broke. In a moment he would kneel down and put his arms around her, something she would have gladly sacrificed a limb for only days before. Now the torment it created made her want to tear her skin off.

_God I'm so screwed up!_

She waited but the embrace never came. Looking up, she saw him standing over her, hurt and confusion plainly evident on his face. She realized she was cowering against the grass, pulled into as tight a ball as she could manage. The bully scold in the back of her mind raged against her. _What the hell are you afraid of_?

"I'm so sorry, Chuck."

"Sorry about what? Sweetie, what's the matter? You're freaking me out."

"You died."

"I'm right here, Sarah." It was a quiet statement of reason but she could hear the pleading underneath.

"It doesn't matter. You died, and I had to deal with it, and I can't …" Some suppressed corner of her mind understood the significance of the words she was about to say and she hated herself for it … not that it mattered. It wasn't like she had any other options. She took a deep breath then said it. "I don't think I can go back to how we were."

The words seemed to hit Chuck like slap to the face. His mouth dropped open in shock then began to work, trying to form words. Finally his throat opened up. "What? _What_? Sarah, don't say that! How can you know that?" He took a steadying breath. "Okay, okay, you've been through a lot all at once." He kneeled down to her level as he spoke, his nearness sending alarming jolts down her spine to her limbs. "Maybe just give it some time. I know it's going to take me a while to feel normal again … it's got to be a _lot_ worse for you. Just don't make any drastic decisions when you're feeling like this. Ah jeez, now you're shivering. Here, take my jacket. Sarah? _Sweetie_? Oh god!" He had reached out to give her his coat but she'd skittered backwards, out of reach, as though his touch would freeze her heart.

"I can't …"

It was like reading a billboard watching the emotions flash across his features. The speed of it surprised her and some remote part of her wondered at his ability to process it all. Shock registered the longest but then fell away to hurt, contemplation, concern, and finally empathy. "What did I do to you?"

"I'm sorry, I just can't …" Her temples were throbbing and a knife seemed to be working its way through her sternum.

"Okay." His voice was soft, placating. "Breathe, sweetie. I'll let you have some space." He stepped backwards a couple of paces and her heart began to slow, the pain in her head and chest fading. "That better?" She nodded, at least she tried to. "God, it's so hard for me to see you like this. I just want to wrap you up and make it better … don't worry …" He put his hands up, appeasingly. "I'll stay back here. Sweetie, how are we going to work this out?"

_Oh Chuck, I am beyond fixing._

"I mean, it looks like me being near you is making it worse, but I can't just leave you like this. At least let me send Casey to drive you home or something."

She nodded, knowing Casey would be too busy carting Chuck off to Castle for debriefing to worry about her. She didn't want to be anywhere but alone tonight.

"Then you have to promise me you're going to talk to someone tomorrow. I'm not going to sleep tonight, or ever, for that matter, unless I know you've got someone to talk this out with. No one should have to go through what you're going through alone."

_What I'm going through? What about what you're going through?_

She nodded again, no intention of following his advice. The only people she would be allowed to talk to about this were Company shrinks and she couldn't risk anything getting back to the Ring. Besides they'd want her taken out of the field on a psych hold, and without work, she had nothing left. He, on the other hand, needed help in a big way and she doubted he would get it from Beckman. She could at least give him one last piece of advice as his former handler, as someone who, even if she couldn't feel it, still cared about him.

"Chuck, you need to promise _me_ something. You need to see your dad again and convince him to help with the Intersect. You can't live with it like this."

"That's not going to happen. He doesn't know about the Intersect taking over and that's how I want to keep it. He's more in danger now regardless of who finds him first, so he needs to stay hidden. If he knew about my problem …"

"Then you need to go disappear with him. Now is the ideal time."

"No! I'm not leaving you or Ellie. Sarah, I'm not going to be any more than minutes away from you … I mean, whenever you're ready."

_God, he doesn't get it._ The guilt slipped past her defenses, becoming instantly unbearable. "Chuck, I don't think I'm ever …"

"No!" She could see his body vibrating, defiant, but his voice softened. "Sweetie, you don't understand. No matter how long it's been or even if you never want to see me again, you're still a part of me. Two hours, two days, or twenty years from now, if you need me, you pick up the phone and call. I'll jump in the car or be on the next plane_._ If you need someone to listen or a shoulder to cry on, if you need me to fix your phone or make you a sandwich … anything. Sarah, you don't even need a reason. I'll _always_ be there. Okay?"

She wished it was just a desperate plea, something that would never be fulfilled, something she could dismiss, but it was Chuck saying the words. Of course he meant it and would follow through in a heartbeat. If she'd had an ounce of humanity she knew this would have touched her — maybe a tear, a smile, the courage to reach out to him, or even just a retreat of the anesthetic haze — but she could only stand there, mute, vacant, and only distantly horrified that her life with him was over.

Half a minute went by and neither moved. The water birds were still, the traffic sounds distant. A heavy step sounded on the bridge, probably Casey coming to collect Chuck. She felt paralyzed, floating above, seeing everything in perfect detail but unable to make it end. She needed to say something, to acknowledge the promise Chuck had made, to tell him to he needed his father, he needed the people who loved him — who still _could_ love him — to let him know how important he was.

There was only one thing that would come out.

"Goodbye, Chuck."

* * *

It was like he was behind the controls of a flight sim game, piloting himself rather than a virtual airplane: ChuckSim 2.0. The view of his feet shuffling over the timbers of the Echo Lake bridge seemed to be projected on a screen in front of him, removed and two-dimensional. His body was still under his control, but it took conscious effort. In the back of his mind he wondered how much he resembled the zombie he'd been a day before.

Not that it mattered. Casey was taking him to the Crown Vic and then to Castle to drain him of the only useful information he had left. Then he would be nothing. Not the Intersect, not a CIA agent, not part of kickass team, probably not even a Buy More employee since he'd been "dead" for two weeks. And would Sarah ever let him be something to her again? At the moment he felt nothing more than a worthless Chuck husk.

As they passed the spot where his truncated memorial had taken place he wearily looked up from following Casey's heels to see a quick flickering of sidelong glances from the knots of people who had yet to disperse. Then his eyes tracked over a sight that abruptly slapped him out of his trance, sending him reeling back into three dimensions. One hundred forty pounds of confused, pissed-off Ellie was storming across the grass on an intercept course, and it was obvious she would not be denied.

"Where are you two headed?" There was accusation in her tone.

Casey kept walking towards his Vic but turned a broad white smile on her. In a voice loud enough to carry to the other attendees he said, "Just taking Chuck to the hospital. Seems like he got a bump on the head and lost his memory for a little while. Can't be too cautious with that stuff."

Chuck could tell from her expression Ellie didn't believe a word of it. "I'm coming with you." Her tone dared either to say no.

_Oh crap. _

Chuck saw a battle of wills brewing and he knew he needed to stop it. His sister had already been through enough, probably Casey too for that matter, and neither needed any more distress. He turned to Casey, ready to interfere but the man spoke before he could.

"No problem. The Vic'll hold all of us. Devon, Morgan … you two coming?"

_What?_

He scanned Casey's face to see if he'd been replaced by an imposter but saw only the familiar impatient glare. Ellie and the other two turned their eyes to him, probably looking for reassurance, though he was as confused as they were.

"Come on. We can talk in the car." Casey's voice only held a trace of the irritation Chuck knew was bubbling underneath. Something was definitely up; he was being far too accommodating. Still, Chuck decided he would rather have his family with him now that Sarah had abandoned him.

He nodded to the others and they all followed Casey to the street where the Vic was parked, not a word spoken between them. That changed quickly, once everyone was inside with the doors closed, all three in the back seat shouting at once.

"Take him to Westside. God, Chuck, do you know how worried …"

"Buddy, I thought you were dead for sure. I almost sold the NES …"

"Bro, not awesome on the death fake out. Do you know what you did to your …"

"Everyone, quiet for a second." It was far too polite a tone to stop the harangue.

"… already sent out the obituary and …"

"… cried herself to sleep every night …"

"… couldn't even look at another surf and turf …"

"I said quiet!" Casey's shout boomed in the enclosed space cowing everyone to silence. "Good. Now listen up. I'm taking Chuck to a safe house. _Just_ Chuck. He'll get medical treatment ..." Ellie started to object and Casey turned his glare on her. "It's not my call and it's not up for discussion. I've had dictators make worse threats to me than you're about to make so don't even bother."

At the mention of danger to his family Chuck snapped completely out of his funk. "Casey, if the Ri … if the bad guys know my identity, then Ellie, Devon, and Morgan are coming with us. They need protection too."

"Of course they do. Can't have your sister getting abducted, because your dumb ass would run right into bad guy headquarters with no back-up to try and save her."

"John, I'm sitting right behind you."

_God she sounds pissed._

Casey turned to Ellie. "Here's the deal. I need to find you a safe, public place to hole up, just for a few hours, preferably somewhere with security cameras and where people know you. Any suggestions?"

"Any suggestions? Yeah, here's one. How about you take your superior tone and shove it up your ..."

"Fine!" Casey bellowed, again bringing the car to silence. "Here's option two. I tranq you all and sort it out later. Your choice, option one or two."

It was the battle of wills Chuck had been afraid of back at the park, the two staring threats at each other through slitted eyes. Devon appeared to know better than to step in and Morgan seemed downright fascinated, staring at his middle school crush with renewed appreciation.

Finally Ellie dropped her stare, hunching back into the corner of the Vic. "Westside Memorial cafeteria." It was a sullen voice Chuck hadn't heard her use since they were kids and she'd been called out by their parents. The amount of anger and resentment he could hear buried in there would take weeks to unpack.

"Perfect." Casey pulled out onto Glendale and a malignant silence reigned over the car. It was so uncharacteristic of both Morgan and Ellie that Chuck began to wonder, whether it had become habit for them after the last couple of weeks, trying and failing to get any information out of his two partners?

The quiet allowed him ample time to reflect on how completely unrewarding his homecoming had become. Aside from the initial burst of affection shown him by his sister, friends, and father when he'd turned up not dead, everyone had been far less than happy with him. He knew he couldn't blame them, as they'd all been through an emotional wringer, but it hadn't been his fault. Except for his dad, none of them knew that or had the slightest idea the stakes he was up against. A little truth telling could have easily quelled the storm clouds building in the backseat of the Vic, but he had no idea what Beckman would do with them if they ever found out. So it meant bearing the waves of stormy resentment beating on the back of his head. When Morgan finally spoke up, Chuck almost felt like kissing the man just for breaking the mood.

"So, Chuck … how long were you going to wait to tell me that you're a spy?"

Or not.

* * *

"The DDS&T? That Gerald Hesch?"

"Yep, that one."

A low, feral noise escaped Casey's throat, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel. "Figures. CIA's full of nothing but traitors and commies anyway."

Chuck didn't even have the energy to roll his eyes. When Morgan had asked his question in the Vic it'd been like a match to dynamite and the rest of the short ride to the hospital had been a contentious one, forcing him into one deflection after another. Then, with that ordeal finished, once Chuck was alone in the car with Casey, another interrogation had begun: where he'd been, what he'd learned on the ship, what had happened to Sarah. It had never taken Chuck so much effort to speak.

"You know you'll have to repeat all of this for Beckman when she debriefs you?"

Chuck sighed, nodding.

"But we can stop for now. It's going to be a long night." Casey's tone was quiet, almost understanding.

As was usually the case after their business was discussed, they lapsed into silence. Casey stared at the road in front of him, dominating it one mile at a time, while Chuck withdrew into his worries about Sarah. He kept replaying the way she'd flinched when he'd reached out to her, like his touch burned her. As far as his memory went, it had only been the day before when she'd happily agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. It hadn't just been just words either; he'd seen the promise in her eyes. And now she couldn't stand to be near him. It wasn't fair and it didn't make sense and if he didn't get his head clear soon he was going to lose it.

"So …" From anyone else it would have just been a grunt, but from Casey it was a prelude to an awkward conversation. Chuck eyed the door latch, considering ending it all as a skid mark on the 101. "… how long you gonna let Walker suffer before you go fix what you screwed up?"

"What?" There was enough traffic. It would probably be fast.

"You heard me."

The only problematic thing was the twenty-car pile up he'd cause, which would be inevitable as it was LA_._

"Unbelievable. For once in his life the moron has nothing to say." Casey snorted a humorless chuckle.

"Oh, for chrissake, Casey, I do _not_ need this." This only earned him another amused snort from the driver's seat. "You know what, it's not like I chose to have the Intersect take over my brain. As soon as I was conscious I tried to get to her. It's not my fault people thought I was dead." The truth was, he did feel responsible, whether it was an accident or not, but the guilt just made him more defensive.

"I'm not talking about your little two-week vacation, being more brainless than usual, I'm talking about you getting her all worked up with her lady feelings when I told you it was going to mess her up. You're responsible for making her a head case, so fix her."

"She's not a car, Casey. She's an adult who can make her own decisions. Just because she's a woman doesn't mean she can't sort out her own problems. Jeez!"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Ah for chrissakes. Is there anything you won't turn into some hippie persecution complex? Figures, getting raised by a feminist." He said the last under his breath but just loud enough for Chuck to hear.

"Damn it, Casey! My sister got herself into UCLA and made spectacular grades, all the while scrounging for money to feed us and raising me — pretty damn well I might add. And the asshole rich boys who thought dating her meant trading a meal ticket for sex used to call her feminist too when she dumped their asses, and just like you, they thought it was an insult. Well you know what, I _was_ raised by a feminist and _I'm fucking proud of it!"_

Chuck's shout rang in the close confines of the Crown Vic and he winced, knowing he'd let Casey get to him again. It was like he had a bright shiny button that said "push for angry rant" and Casey had his finger on it. At least it had gotten him out of his head for a few seconds. He glanced sidelong at the other man and wondered if that had been the point. Casey wasn't exactly smirking but his scowl looked less menacing than normal.

_Bastard._

Casey made an aggrieved sigh. "Pull your panties out of your ass, Bartowski. It's like walking through a damn minefield trying to talk to you. All I'm saying is that you don't abandon your partner. I know you know that."

Chuck rolled his eyes, still annoyed, but then nodded. "Yeah, I know. Right now I'm part of the problem though. She needs some time away from me."

"Time? How much time?"

"Dunno. If you'd asked her she probably would have said forever."

"Well don't give her forever. Once she takes a new mission and moves on, you're history. She's never coming back." The big man was silent a moment then made an annoyed grunt. "Whatever. Do what you want. Not my problem."

Chuck glanced at Casey again, feeling a ghost of a smile on his face though not daring to let the man see it. "I'm worried about her too."

Casey responded with a disgusted growl but otherwise kept silent. Minutes later they pulled onto the exit to take them to the Buy More and Chuck found himself thinking about the upcoming debrief. It would be more than just a distraction from the events at the lake as this debrief would have implications for his and his family's safety. He needed info first.

"What do you think Beckman will do with me now that my brain's been all scrambled?"

"No idea."

_So helpful. _"Okay, but what you said before about her having a different idea of loyalty … what did you mean by that?"

Casey rumbled a sigh. "Forget I mentioned it."

"Well, considering she was happy to send me off on a suicide mission with no backup when I was healthy, I'm kinda curious about my chances for survival now that I'm a broken toy. I just want to know what her intentions are."

"Bartowski, we're not all telepathically linked to a hive mind in the NSA. If you want to know what the General's got in store I suggest you wait a few minutes and ask her yourself." Casey pulled into a space with a jerk just down the street from the Buy More parking lot. Chuck didn't make a move to get out and Casey huffed a big sigh. "Look, what I said before … about loyalty… things might have changed. The truth is, I have no idea." He seemed defensive, almost apologetic, and Chuck realized he was probably telling the truth.

"Okay, fair enough. Just know, before we go in there, my loyalty is to you, Sarah, and my family, not to Beckman."

Casey gave him a heavy lidded look that said "since when has that ever been different" and got out.

A minute later Chuck was standing, once again, in the OO's freezer, waiting to descend into Castle and a potentially dangerous confrontation. Granted, unlike Shaw had been, Beckman was thousands of miles away, probably in her office, but if she wanted something done to him there was someone, no doubt already in Burbank, just waiting for the order. He hesitated at the top step but Casey propelled him down the stairs with the inevitability of a bulldozer. Any further disturbing parallels with the previous meeting evaporated at the sight of the two petite redheads, sitting side by side at the conference table like twins displaced by age.

"General? Fabrice?"

"Bartowski." The General's tone was not encouraging. Fabrice looked up from her laptop at the sound of his name, eyeing him with curiosity. Beckman continued, her tone sounding angrier with each word. "You're looking remarkably well for a dead man. I mean, I'm assuming you're a dead man because there's no other possible way you would drop off the map for a few weeks with no communication to me or your partners unless you were dead. Not unless you were remarkably stupid and undisciplined, in which case you'll be dead soon enough!"

_Jeez la crap! You too? Isn't there anyone happy I'm not dead? Maybe I should have just stayed dead. _

At least, to her credit, the General didn't interrupt him during his description of his return to the living, only sharing a brief look with Casey when he got to the part with the two Somalis in the convenience store.

"… and then we dropped them off at the hospital and here I am." Chuck had conveniently left out any mention of his father, Sarah's reaction, or Morgan's question and the argument that had followed. He was relieved that Casey kept his mouth shut.

"So, Mr. Bartowski …"

_Still with the mister?_

"… you convince everyone you're dead, including our enemies — any of the people that might want to kill you — and your first thought upon waking is to tell the whole damn world you're alive?" It always sounded so much worse when she said it.

"Um … yeah?"

"Well I hope you like living indoors and eating processed food because you're not going to see outside of a safe house for the foreseeable future. Or we might be able to use you better as bait."

"General, I don't think anyone made it out of that mess alive, other than Sarah and me."

"You might want to tell that to Lance "Maui" Irwin, Brotsan Stratford, Jonathan "Fifty" Spamanto, Richard "Roy" Pelzman, and Francis Sobatka. They were the men hired by the Ring to work lower tier security for the ship's gangplank and missed out on the explosion entirely as they were unconscious down on the pier. They _do_, however, remember you and Shaw and have given remarkably good descriptions to local authorities before the CIA could step in. The investigation's been quashed but I guarantee the Ring has your description now."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. So, I'm assuming Walker's watching over your sister?" Without waiting for an answer she turned to Casey. "We're going to be spread thin for a little while so you and Walker alone will be responsible for Chuck and his family's protection. I'm sure you can handle that."

Casey nodded, and when Chuck opened his mouth to contradict Beckman, the older man gave a subtle shake of his head.

_Wait … you're covering for her? I mean, I'm grateful but …_

"Bartowski!"

Chuck snapped his head up realizing the General was waiting on him. "Yes?"

"You could go a long way towards redeeming yourself if you could give us some information from your little adventure before everything went sideways."

It normally drove him nuts when she patronized him but making light of the suicide mission she'd sent him on was a bit much. "My little adventure? The one you forced me to go on over pain of death! That adventure?" He waited for a response but got only an impatient glare. The fact she had nothing to say was the only acknowledgement he would get. "Yeah, well I can give you the names of four of the five elders. Would that help?"

Chuck couldn't quite interpret Beckman's expression, but she may have wanted to wring his neck or kiss him … or both. Fabrice, on the other hand, looked positively hungry with anticipation. She flipped open a laptop and waited.

Casey smiled, shaking his head. "You two are going to love this."

Beckman widened her eyes fractionally.

"Okay so there was Jimmy Effrelt …"

Immediately he was interrupted as Fabrice pumped her fist once emitting a tightly controlled "yes!"

Chuck gaped. "You guessed he was an Elder?"

Fabrice grinned proudly. "_I_ didn't. NINA did. She's my baby: Node Inferring Network Analysis. I know, not very descriptive, but my favorite dog when I was a kid was Nina. Anyway, she's made a number of useful predictions already … or they would be useful if …"

Beckman cut her off, a weary tone in her voice. "We're all very impressed with your work but the alpha is still unacceptable for our needs."

"Maybe if you didn't completely throw out half the algorithm …"

"You know we can't go forward with that many assumptions, even if they are justified. There's too much uncertainty"

Fabrice kept her smile. "I know … but she still got one right."

The General patted Fabrice's hand. "I know, dear, and I don't doubt the value of your work."

_Dear?_

Casey gave Chuck a look that told him he was just as confused.

Beckman caught the look and smiled a smile that could even be considered genuine, almost maternal. "My niece …" She indicated the red-head next to her.

_Oh shit! Morgan, buddy, what have you gotten yourself into?_

"… was in the top of her class at Cal Tech. We're all very proud. But do go on Mr. Bartowski." Her voice turned on a dime at the word 'mister', showing just how little that pride extended to anyone else.

Chuck was actually glad he'd gone over everything with both his father earlier in the day and Casey before the debriefing because at the moment his head was whirling unpleasantly. "Right, um, there was Trey Reynolds …"

"Chairman Reynolds?"

"Yup, and then Belinda Fermin …"

There was a whispered "Ha!" from Fabrice and another eye-roll from Beckman.

"… and you won't like this last one … DDS&T Gerald Hesch."

To Chuck's surprise, Beckman took this one in stride nodding. She turned to her niece. "Can you work with this?"

"With the DU 97 you've got down here I could have estimates in seconds and actionable data in … I don't know … maybe a half an hour, but with all the bootstrapping we won't have a high confidence network to identify our safe contacts for another couple hours. Do we need to confirm Reynolds and Hesch?"

The General turned back to Chuck. "How did you identify them?"

"Um … I never saw them, it was voice only." He saw both aunt and niece sigh. A moment later his brain caught up. "But their voices weren't amplified so I don't think they were recordings. Not more Red Herrings"

Beckman nodded, contemplating. "That's going to have to be good enough. If we don't move on this quickly it won't matter. With Bartowski now back in the world of the living …" She sent another withering glare at him. "… the Ring will probably find out soon enough, assume he knows the identities of the Elders and start damage control. We don't want all of our targets in the wind before we pick them up."

"Alright, I'm on it." Fabrice closed her laptop and headed for Castle's super computer stopping for a moment to smile at Chuck. "Glad you're alive."

Chuck smiled briefly in return happy at least one person wasn't accusing him of anything. Still, it didn't change the fact that, whether it was the lingering effects of getting clocked on the head or being a zombie for a few weeks, he was feeling like the slow kid in class. "Was I supposed to understand any of what you two were talking about?"

Beckman sighed impatiently. "Bartowski, you would know, if you hadn't been stumbling about the harbor district for the last twelve days …"

_It wasn't my fault, damn it!_

"… that the situation we're facing in the intelligence community is dire. There's been widespread infiltration of everything but the ONI — I mean everything, even our contractors — and either the administrative and internal affairs sections are keeping their mouths shut about it for whatever reason or we're the only ones that know. Were in trouble with the FBI as well which makes our job a great deal more difficult. Now you might think the Ring cells would be disorganized with four of the five elders removed. I don't have that view. I think it's quite possible that the last Elder wasn't even at that meeting, maybe on purpose. To me it just looks like power has just been consolidated with one last elder holding all the strings. If that's true then we still have a formidable enemy that we need to weaken as soon as possible. That means identifying safe contacts within the FBI, CIA Internal Affairs, and so on so that we can have the manpower for a massive take down. That is what my niece is doing right now, identifying the Ring's network and those most likely not connected."

The haze began to clear a little. "But you mentioned the high alpha … it sounds like she has a signal to noise ratio problem."

"Not after you provided us with the names of the elders. That gave her program the data necessary to infer a network type and some information about the allegiance of each of the vertices — individuals — in the network. That was always the problem, identifying who was a knowing player and who was being duped. The assumptions she was using were too risky, and we hadn't made any headway parsing the DNA salad from the Enterprise Dawning, but now with hard data …"

Chuck nodded. It didn't explain the enigma that was Fabrice but it did explain the prior conversation. It also made him realize that Beckman seemed a bit more technically literate than she'd appeared to be when he'd had that videoconference with her in that creepy old motel room in Glendale. Maybe she'd had other reasons not to immediately send him all the information he'd asked for over the satellite link. Maybe she'd wanted to edit something first. He set that thought aside as something more unsettling came to mind.

"General, is Shaw dead?"

This elicited an amused grunt from Casey but Beckman simply nodded.

"How do you know?"

"Remember that tracer Walker inserted into him during our last meeting down here?"

"Yeah."

"A CIA cleanup team found the piece of him that still held it."

"Oh."

Strangely, even though he'd already been sure the man was dead he felt his heart leap at the news.

_How 'bout that._ _The Wicked Witch is dead. _

Still he knew the sense of relief washing over him wasn't justified. Shaw was really a flying monkey with a fez to Van Breeda's Wicked Witch, who was probably still at large and … now that he thought about it … with the General's suspicion about the last Elder …

_Who would stand to gain no matter who came ahead in the power struggle between Shaw and the rest of the Elders? Now with all of them gone … damn it!_

Beckman was giving orders to Casey, so Chuck waited patiently till there was a break. "General, do we know anything about where the … um … where Shaw's horrible creations came from?"

"I thought he explained it to you and Walker before you blew him up."

"He didn't explain where the people came from, who programmed them, or how they got to the ship."

It was just the briefest flicker, the way the intensity of Beckman's scowl fell for a moment, but it wasn't lost on Chuck. "In time, Bartowski. We have other concerns at the moment."

_What are you hiding?_

Chuck cursed his inability to flash as he was fairly sure the answer lay in the still unrepressed Delta Files. Then he remembered a couple pieces of info that he'd learned after activating those files.

"I think this concerns … those concerns." He mentally smacked himself in the head. "What I mean is Taproot seemed to be involved in …"

"Mr. Bartowski!"

It was truly awe-inspiring how much ferocity such a tiny person could muster, and Chuck swallowed the rest of his sentence. The General gave Casey a significant look and he went to the security console, tapping on the keyboard and making a few mouse clicks. He nodded to the General and sat.

Then Beckman turned menacing glare at Chuck and he wondered why Castle's AC was turned up so high in the middle of winter. She began speaking in a quiet voice. "You know that Taproot was a CIA run program, which means it's not up to me to say who is cleared to know about its details. So by sending you the Delta Files without taking the time to suppress that information, I technically committed treason. Now it appears you accessed the information that I expressly _forbade_ you to access …" Her voice took on a deadly edge. "… and in doing that, you removed any ambiguity about it. My ulcer thanks you again."

"Sorry, General. I didn't do it on purpose. Taproot attacked us before I had the chance to …"

"It hardly matters now, does it? The damage is done." She paused, still holding him with her glare. "Can I guess you have it figured out?"

Chuck hesitated. _Is this a trap?_

"Fine then. Either you know or you don't. It hardly matters to …"

"Taproot was abducting people from the country they were operating out of for use in tests on the Intersect." It came out in a verbal torrent and he had to replay it in his head to make sure the words were in the right order.

"Looks like the brain damage wasn't too extensive. Yes, that's exactly what happened. And the public cries about civil rights violations over domestic surveillance meanwhile these yahoos are out committing human rights atrocities." Beckman cleared her throat, composing herself and reddening slightly. "But it wasn't our Intersect they were testing. This was entirely off the reservation as far as I can tell. It appears that Shaw was subverting government employees all the way back in 2002 and he had an Intersect scientist to help him."

"So that's what Eve was holding over him. She knew he was involved."

"Probably, yes. Anyway, it seems that whatever they were trying to imprint on their, lets call them victims, had a catastrophic effect on higher level thinking and the ability to make decisions. The victims that were still alive when Taproot was shut down seemed to be nothing more than highly functioning vegetables."

"Like they'd had their executive centers screwed up? Like the PCF and stuff?"

Beckman narrowed her eyes. "Yes ... like the PFC." Her expression shifted for a moment in a way he couldn't read, then she continued. "When the CIA covered up the operation these poor souls were sent to live in nursing homes across the country. Two weeks before your meeting with the Elders, these same individuals simultaneously disappeared from their nursing homes. Interestingly, only a few weeks before that, several spy drones were found missing from a CIA storage depot in Virginia. You said you saw Taproot moving crates from a storage unit in Pasadena?"

"Yeah? You think those might have been …"

"It would explain how someone found out where the meeting was going to occur. Just followed your escort to the meet with stealth drones."

It hadn't been what he was about to say but made a lot more sense than what he'd guessed so he nodded. "Is there someone investigating the theft? That could lead us back to whoever was working with Shaw."

"Of course, but obviously not one of mine so even if I had information on their leads, which I don't, there's no reason to believe it wouldn't just be more misdirection. We don't need more red herrings."

"Right. Well ... do we have anything on who transported the … victims to the meet?"

The General smiled in a way that seemed less condescending than normal, then sighed and clasped her hands in front of her. "I like your instincts, Bartowski, but … this isn't a concern you need to worry about at the moment."

"Yes it is! I mean ... I disagree respectfully, General. Anyone left in Shaw's network is potentially dangerous to me and to my family. In fact, this scientist of his could be … well … have you considered the possibility that he could be the missing Elder? I mean, who stood to gain if _either_ Shaw or the other Elders were defeated, or if all of them were defeated?"

Beckman's smile became sad and she lowered her eyes. Casey, who had been sitting quietly, contributing no more than a grunt, finally spoke up. "Respectfully, General, he deserves to know."

"Know what?" Chuck had felt so close to being on top of what was going on, now suddenly he was in the dark again.

Beckman glared at Casey then turned back. "Chuck …"

_Uh-oh. First names? This can't be good._

"… this isn't easy for me to say, and I don't expect you to believe me or agree …"

And then he knew exactly what came next.

"… but we've come across quite a bit of evidence that points to your …"

"Dad wasn't Shaw's scientist and I really doubt he was the fifth Elder." He saw Beckman's eyes flare alarmingly and realized he'd just cut her off again. "Sorry, but Shaw said as much in the meeting with the Elders. He was working with a man named Bas van Breeda, code name: Auriga."

The effect of this revelation on Beckman was far from what Chuck had expected. She actually seemed relieved. A moment later her eyes narrowed. "You heard Shaw use the name Auriga?"

"Um, not exactly." He saw Beckman's expression become even more skeptical and rushed on. "When Shaw was talking to the Elders he told them he was working with one of the original designers but not the Architect. He called the Architect a Boy Scout. I'm almost certain the Boy Scout is …"

"Steven, yes. An accurate description."

_Steven?_ "Now if it was one of the original designers, which one would have been most likely to start their own shadow government in an effort to take over?"

"I don't know, Mr. Bartowski. You seem to know quite a lot about this. Why don't you tell me." Her voice was mild but Chuck had watched Beckman enough to know she was angling for the kill.

"Um …" _Crap!_

_"_What's the matter? You seem nervous. How about you tell me where you heard the name Auriga?"

"Uh ..."

"Maybe you've seen your father again?"

He knew better than to confuse it for a question and swallowed hard. "What do you mean by 'again' exactly?" _Smooth, Bartowski._

When the ambush came, it was so quiet he nearly missed it. "That's where you've been all this time isn't it? You lied to me." Her face was glowing red, belying her tempered voice.

"No, General! That's not it at all. I did tell you the truth. Okay, maybe I did see him but that was _after_ I woke up. He found me on the street when I tried to call Sarah from a pay phone."

Chuck paused for a moment, as Beckman's forehead dropped into her palm. She sighed deeply then looked up with a long-suffering expression. "Go on."

"Yeah, okay, bad idea. At least I realized after I made the call."

"Oh did you? Well then, no harm done."

Chuck only wished he could wield sarcasm as effectively as the General, though he wasn't going to let her bully him.

"Anyway, I talked to him for a bit but he didn't want anything to do with anyone from the intelligence world … anyone at all, really. He tried to get me to run away with him and got mad when I refused."

"And you're just now telling me why?"

"Uh … because you didn't ask before?"

For a moment, Beckman appeared to be praying for arms long enough to reach across the table and slap him. "You and I both know you had no intention of telling me about your father. I've put up with more than enough of your divided loyalties …"

It wasn't so much the constant harping from the General — he was used to that — but more the mental fatigue that killed his internal censor. "Divided loyalties? Are you kidding me? I walked into the mouth of the enemy with only Sarah for backup _for you_ … and I came out with what you wanted. Not only that, I got turned into the walking dead …"

"Let's not exaggerate."

"Fine. I got turned into a junk food powered, walking vegetable for two weeks."

"You say you went into the mouth of the enemy for me? No. You did that because I threatened you with a charge of treason. And not only are your loyalties divided but you've affected Walker's too. I suppose that's pretty much what I expect out of you, though. Well, if you won't do it for me then do it for your father's safety. The next time you see your father you don't let him go. You tell Casey or me and then do your damn best to hold on to him till someone gets there to pick him up. Your father is in a lot of danger and is much safer in our custody …"

"No offense, General, but he's been able to keep himself safe for years. As infiltrated as our government is, why would you think it's anywhere near safe for him to come out of hiding?"

"Look, just because he hasn't been picked up yet, doesn't mean he's safe, that he isn't being watched closely by someone, waiting for the moment when they need him, or need to get rid of him. Did you have any idea what Shaw's plans for you were? Did you know he was planning on turning you into his proxy using a new version of the imprinting protocol, the one they'd been testing on your … zombies. You were going to become head of the Ring for him and you'd never have known it."

Chuck wasn't sure if she was bluffing but something about the way his skin prickled told him it was true. It was exactly the kind of thing Shaw would have done had he the power to do it, and it explained quite a bit about why the Traitor needed him, as the stunt with the elders could have been done without him.

Beckmand continued. "And your girlfriend … we all thought she was working on a mission to identify the Elders and never questioned it, when all along Shaw was just using her as a bargaining chip to get a meet with them. The people you're dealing with have plans inside of plans inside of plans."

Beckman went silent for a moment, maybe letting him absorb these revelations. He wondered what the sources were for these particular pieces of info and asked as much.

"We were able to decode some of the Intersect overlays from the Castle meeting recordings and pieced together Shaw's plans. Not that it matters now, though the pattern of it all makes me believe that Van Breeda really was mentoring Shaw. In any case, you aren't going to be a part of any of this for the next few weeks as you and your family are going to be hidden and under protection. Your involvement and you fate afterwards depends on whether the Intersect stabilizes during that time."

"My fate?" Suddenly everything that hadn't been said in his prior conversation with Casey became an ominous reality . "What do you mean by 'my fate'?"

"Relax, Bartowski. This is the United States, not Soviet Russia. We don't disappear people because they're inconvenient." Chuck wondered why she was bringing up people being disappeared when he hadn't mentioned it. Then he saw Casey shift slightly in his seat and his skin tightened further. "Now I need to go back to work with my niece. Casey, I'll let you take over from here. There's a SatPhone in the prep room, which will be your link to me." And just like with her videoconferences, the meeting was over without so much as a 'good bye'.

Chuck sat motionless at the conference table while Casey collected the SatPhone, trying to penetrate the General's intentions. He knew he'd have no success but there was someone that knew her better. Chuck held out till Casey had marched them halfway back to the Vic before the suspense got to be too much. "We _do_ disappear people, don't we?"

Casey kept walking but Chuck could tell by the set of the man's shoulders that he had heard him. When they got to the Vic, Casey paused before getting in.

"In the America I believe in, people have rights and those who fight to protect those rights are respected and treated with dignity. That may be a fantasy but it's an ideal I believe in. I'm not about to let that ideal be trashed for the sake of expediency. Do you understand me?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Thank you, Casey."

* * *

**A/N**: Fear not. New chapter soon.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N**: As promised, here's the next chapter. No four month wait and I even moved a little section from next chapter to the end of this one as a bonus. Thanks again to **KateMcK** for being the awesomest beta and clearing up my numerous oversights. She's a fantastic writer and hopefully I'll get to beta something of her's soon. Okay, enjoy.

* * *

For Sarah, the five days following Chuck's memorial passed with a rapidity that was almost alarming. Performing the daily rites of bathing, eating, and sleeping, insulated from consequence, made the hours tick off like miles on the trip meter. Her basic needs were easily dealt with. When she was hungry she called and food and drink came to her door. When her mind needed stimulation there was background reading to do. When she needed action there was always the hotel's fitness center. Of course she would need to have her training dummy shipped to D.C., along with a few other belongings she couldn't bring on the plane, but a treadmill and free weights were good for the time being. If only there had been something to make the nights pass easier.

She wasn't surprised that there had been no orders to report to Langley. It was understood that, after her release from the interagency collaboration, she would need to be re-evaluated before heading back into the fray. Having to endure a fight to dodge a mental health sabbatical was worth it, immersion in work being the best way to run out the clock.

And that was how she thought of her life now, waiting out the end of a bad movie. With love and family now out of the question because she was too broken to handle them, that left only work. In all actuality it wouldn't be hard to do, burning up the rest of her days, considering how work could make the end come sooner than later, especially if she kept her old promise to Chuck regarding the imprinting technology. She'd tested herself on the fourth night of her seclusion, trying to imagine how that end would play out. It wouldn't be peaceful, she was sure of that: a vision of cold pavement, fading to black as she bled out from a knife wound in a back alley, or the explosion of pain from a gunshot to the chest, maybe a slow death in an improvised "interrogation" room.

What would be her last thoughts? If her life flashed before her, what would she see? What would she regret?

The answer to the last one had come easily.

She had scanned the sum total of her accumulations over the years, scattered throughout the room. It didn't amount to much, physically or sentimentally, particularly since she'd sequestered anything that would remind her of Chuck in a box on the nightstand.

Then it had hit with no warning, a cold spasm of horror and sadness at the thought of her death. This had been followed by the words "so many things" echoing through her mind and she'd been mystified as to where it had come from. She'd spent the rest of the night alternating between shadowboxing and staring at the ceiling, trying to forget the incident and get back with the program. By the next day she'd largely succeeded, sleeping into the early afternoon, feeling lighter than she had in days. Hours later, however, as the sunlight reflecting off the Hilton across the street had faded from golden to dark auburn, the anxiety had begun creeping back like the lengthening shadows. By the time she'd finished dinner, a leftover half sandwich from lunch, she'd realized sleep would be a hard won battle, if even possible.

_So many things …_

Now, she stared at the ceiling in her darkened room, rolling the words around in her mind, listening for any sound from the outside to break the stillness of the middle of the night. For the first time, after so many years living out of hotel rooms, she found the peace of proper sound insulation to be unwelcome. She closed her eyes trying to relax all of her muscles with her calm breathing routine but her mind wasn't willing to play along. Instead the sheets seemed to weigh on her as if they bound her to the bed and she opened her eyes with a start.

_Déjà vu._

The memory teased her and she pursued it, though she knew better: two windows with evergreen trees receding into the distance, an ache in her neck and jaw, a doughy Canadian. There was little room to fight but she took him down with a syringe of tranquilizer. Then, the looming figure of a large dark-haired man filled her vision, squeezing out the background. His lip was bloodied and his face was a twisted mask of outrage and condescension but the Beretta pointed at her chest drew her attention.

_Not this again._

She watched the small movements of his index finger, knowing that the tiny distance of the trigger-pull encapsulated the rest of her life. Now, suddenly in context, the words came back to her with the intensity of the moment.

_So many things I want to do … and to say. God I wish I had more time._

She closed her eyes and waited for the cough and flash of the gun. Wasn't she supposed to be saved? This time, however, a profound, nightmare-thought ripped through her mind.

_What if I hadn't lived? What if I had died like I want to now? This is it, Walker. You only get one life, no mulligans, no epilogs, no re-imaginings. If you run out the clock on this one, what will you have? Just a pile of days and one amazing could-have-been._

Tendrils of panic began to wind around her heart and a deep hollow ache grew there. Her stomach fluttered as the sensation of falling took her and she twisted the sheets with a white-knuckle grip to fight it. The howling void had her now. She needed to flee but there was no way to escape the truth: someday she would end and be forgotten. The vision of the back of that ambulance in Tacoma beckoned and the next moment played out in front of her. She had opened her eyes to see her attacker, Manny, fall over dead.

And who had it been that had saved her, staring, wide-eyed and frightened.

She went to reach for her phone on the nightstand then realized it was already in her hand, Chuck's face on the screen, muscle memory having easily trumped restraint.

_What are you doing, Sarah? It's almost one o'clock in the morning his time. He's already asleep._

But it didn't matter anyway. After four rings the call went to voice mail. She listened to the message but hung up at the beep.

_Coward._

Now she was utterly alone, no longer just afraid to call for help but completely unable. She pressed the phone to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could squeeze out the whole situation, then nearly dropped it when it began to vibrate in her hands. She looked at the screen but the number was private, not like it would keep her from answering.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Sarah? Did you just call me?"

"Yeah." Her voice came out an uncertain whisper so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Hi. I'm sorry … it's late. I shouldn't have called you."

"No! _Jesus_, no. Just stay on the line, okay. I wasn't asleep anyway. In fact I was just wondering how you're doing. Are you okay?"

"Uh …" She squirmed uncomfortably in her bed. Either she explained to him she'd become a head case or she just played it off, giving him no good reason for calling in the middle of the night. It looked bad either way. "I'm … I … I think I just needed to hear your voice." She smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand, wincing. "I'm sorry, I'm just being whiney. I'll leave you alone …"

"Would you cut it out and just talk to me? Don't you think maybe _I_ needed to hear your voice too?"

"Oh … sorry."

"And no more apologies."

"Sorry."

There was a pause on the other end and then a little snort. Her own lips turned up at the corners and she was surprised at how unfamiliar it felt. She found herself wishing to hear a story about the Buy Morons or Morgan's newest ambition — anything to take her mind off that monstrous void — but then it occurred to her, Chuck might not have gone back to work yet. In fact, some significant things might have changed for him. She didn't want to bring it up but she had to know.

"How are you with the … you know … concussion?"

"Better." He was silent for a few seconds and she wondered how difficult this must be for him. "I'm a little bit more myself each day, so progress is good I guess. I had another scan too — Ellie, of course. Managed to convince Beckman through me. There wasn't anything different from the one I had on Halloween. No evidence of a hemorrhage anyway. Oh, and I'm back to doing logic puzzles so the old Bartowski steel trap is as sharp as ever."

_You're such a dork._ She had to bite her tongue not to say it and let him correct her. The puzzles did make her wonder how he was coping though. She'd used them in the past as an indicator of his mental health — the higher his stress level the more puzzles he did. As always, she kept this to herself. "Chuck, you have no idea what a relief it is to hear that. I've been really worried about you." And she meant it too, though her tightly controlled voice wouldn't let it show. Chuck remained silent on the other end and she wondered if she'd lost the connection. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"Oh … thought I'd lost you."

"Nope."

The awkwardness drew out to a fine point, compounded by the inadvertent double entendre, and she wracked her mind for something to break it. Fortunately Chuck came to the rescue.

"So, Ellie and Awesome have a big announcement."

"Really?"

"Ellie's pregnant."

"Oh my god!" Sarah shocked herself with how much her heart jumped at the news. In contrast to the last few days, this bright spot seemed like a reprieve from death. "That's fantastic, Chuck. You're going to be an uncle. When is she due?"

"Towards the end of May."

"Wow. Can you imagine those two as parents? That kid …"

"I know. First word: 'awesome'. Running ironmans at the age of five, graduating med school at fifteen."

"I was just thinking, that's going to be one incredibly cute baby. I can't wait to …" She trailed off, wincing.

There was a pause then a sigh on the other end of the line. "Yeah." He sounded defeated.

"Yeah."

Again, Chuck came to the rescue. "So where are you now?" He seemed to pull off sunny curiosity but she knew the question was anything but casual.

"D.C. The Churchill. You?" She grimaced the second the word was out of her mouth.

"L.A. for the time being. Charlotte, once I'm all sorted out."

It was part of their message code: location classified. _Brilliant, Walker._ He was probably not in a bunker but, to everyone who cared about him, he might as well have been. Only Beckman and Casey would know his location till they figured out if he'd been compromised.

"So, how's Ellie … I mean with you being …"

"She's not happy … at all. She hasn't gotten any of the answers she wants but I don't want to put her in the position of knowing something that'll get her in trouble. I don't know. It just sucks."

"Yeah, it really does. I feel so awful about that. Chuck, there are a lot of things I feel awful about. I am so …"

"Hey, I thought I said no apologies."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are … but this — well, let's call it what it is — this mess isn't anyone's fault. Maybe Shaw's, but he's dead. You're a good person, Sarah. You need to know that."

How he could even sound sincere she had no idea. No one had put a gun to her head and made her leave. She had wanted him to blame her — she had wanted _everyone_ to blame her — to free themselves from the mess she'd made trying to become part of their lives. But she _had_ become part of their lives, hadn't she? What a thoughtless, self-centered idea it had been that there could be a clean, painless break, especially for Chuck. And what a stupid idea to think she even wanted that. There was no one to blame but herself.

"I miss you, Sarah." His voice broke, saying her name, and he fell silent.

_Damn it, Chuck. _She swallowed hard, her eyes burning, feeling for him something she couldn't feel for herself. "Chuck …" _Oh for chrissake, Walker. What could you possibly say now?_ "I'm not sure what to do."

"Well, for one thing, you shouldn't have run … and I know you didn't talk to anyone like I told you to, did you?"

They came like twin slaps to the face. She reeled for a moment feeling a quick heat come to her cheeks. "What? No! Who the hell would I talk too?" It sounded a lot more petulant than she would have liked.

"Okay, yeah, I know it's really hard for you, being in your situation. You still shouldn't have run."

"I know." And she did. It was so easy to see now, how it had been a fear reflex, something her training should have allowed her to recognize. _But all of your moves are reflexes lately, aren't they? _"I didn't think I was any good to anyone, being there."

"Why? Because you were freaking out? Everyone freaks out, Sarah. I do it all the time. In fact I think I'm overdue for one. That doesn't mean you run across the country, away from the ones who love you." There was anger in his voice but at least no condescension.

The heat on her cheeks increased to a burn. Of course she knew that now but it only left her feeling more defensive. He had no idea what it had been like for her. She felt sharp words on her tongue but he continued before she could use them.

"I realize you called me for help, not for me to yell at you, but you need to hear it. The thing is, I've been worried to _death_ about you … I mean, like, a few thousand Woody Allens worth, I've worried. And that's not to say you aren't totally capable and badass. I mean, when it comes to bad guys and sticky situations you're second to none, but with stuff like this … sometimes you need help to get some perspective on it, because if you don't, it turns into a monster."

'Monster', she thought, actually described the feeling pretty aptly though how she was supposed to get any perspective on that she had no idea. "You _know _you were the only person I could ever talk to … well, Ellie too but she hates me now."

"Yeah …"

_No denial there_.

"… but you're on the phone with me now, so talk."

"Now?"

"When else? You call me in the middle of the night …"

"I _did_ wake you, didn't I? I knew it. I am so sorry. I should let you …"

"And we're back to apologizing again. Sweetie, I'm not on the phone with you right now to listen to you apologize." She heard a quiet sigh. "Sorry. It's just hard for me to know that you're hurting so much, that you don't know what to do, but you still won't _talk_ to me about it."

"Chuck, it's not that I won't, I just don't know how I could even explain it. It's embarrassing enough, what I did."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, okay."

"But I hurt you."

"And you'll hurt me more by not letting me help you. So just open your mouth and tell me what's got you all twisted up. Don't think, just talk."

"Just talk?"

"Yep."

The edge in his voice wasn't helping any, justified though it might have been. Still, despite her defensiveness, part of her was begging for release and understanding, no matter how badly it came out. She took a deep breath and tried. "I don't know, Chuck. This thing's just … horrible … and everywhere. I can't get away from it. It's like the world's gone two-dimensional … like it's not real. Like I'm the only thing that's real, and it freaks me out … and god, I sound like a goth fifteen-year-old's diary." She gritted her teeth. "It just felt empty when I thought you had died … and you coming back from the … you showing up again brought it all back. Damn it!" She pounded her fist into the mattress, but the futility of the move just made her more frustrated. "It felt empty? That just sounds stupid. It's not even _right_ … and I just blamed you for it too. How is this helping anyone? You should just hang up on me and go back to bed." She squeezed the phone like she wanted to crush it, her finger hovering, ready to end the call.

"Whoa, _sweetie_, breathe for a second. I haven't got anywhere else to be and I wasn't sleeping anyway. I don't know how I can say it any clearer. I love you more than anything and I'm here for you."

_God!_ She collapsed onto her back feeling like she'd been sucker punched. _You love me and it means you're there for me no matter what. I love you more than anything in the world and it makes me go crazy and run away? _"Why are you wasting your time on me? All I have to say for myself is 'the world feels flat'." She mocked the misery in her voice.

"Quit beating yourself up, okay. I was at the lake, remember? Even if you can't explain it, I saw exactly how traumatic it was for you."

She winced. "You know that wasn't about you, right? The way I flinched … it wasn't because I was afraid of you."

"It hurt … a lot ... but I get it; it wasn't a rational thing. And running? You've always told me how decisions don't make sense when you make them out of fear. You were scared, okay."

"More like crazy."

"Quit it. You're not crazy. Sorry, could you hold on a sec." Sarah heard the sound of rustling then muffled voices for several seconds. "Okay, I'm back. Really sorry about that. So why'd you call me?"

The abrupt insensitivity of the question left her gaping.

"Geez, that didn't come out right. Let me try again. What was it you were feeling right before you called?"

"Uh. Chuck, I really don't …"

"How was your breathing?"

"What?"

"Don't think, just answer. How was your breathing?"

_What's he doing? _"Fast, I guess."

"Heart rate a bit elevated too?"

"Probably. Why …"

"Pain in your chest, tingling in your fingers, rushing in your ears, feeling a bit feverish?"

"Maybe." She had no idea where he was going with this but her body knew he was on to something. She realized her legs, tucked underneath her now, were vibrating. "_Yes_, actually. What are you getting at?"

"Sounds to me like a panic attack. Trust me, I am an expert on those. Back right after I first got the … right after I first met you, I had more than a few. I know exactly how wrong they make you feel. I get it."

Sarah frowned, not sure how she felt about all the hell she'd experienced being summed up in one neat little title. Panic attacks sounded like something that cubicle drones and over medicated movie stars had. Those were for the kind of people who'd never stared down the barrel of a gun, not someone who worked the operations end of the intelligence game.

Chuck continued over her silence. "And I know what it's like to think you've lost someone. It makes you think about all sorts of things you never wanted to ... scary stuff. I understand. You don't have to justify yourself to me. I just wish you hadn't run …"

As Chuck spoke Sarah felt a pressure building in her chest. He was vaguely touching on things that told her he understood, that she wasn't alone, but he was still so far from the target. Nothing he was saying even came close to the depth of the transcendent terror she'd felt. She closed her eyes trying to imagine how to describe it and brought herself back to that moment in her room in L.A. when she had accepted that he wasn't coming back, when she'd nearly lost herself to the emptiness.

That hadn't been the only loss in her life but had capped a string of losses, most of which she had put in the rearview mirror as quickly as possible. Sadie, who had shown her how to dress, wear makeup, and walk in heels, Maria and Cadence from Graham's little recruitment program, and finally Bryce; they were all gone for good. To be completely honest, her father might as well be too; he was a ghost in the wind now and she'd never be able to count on him to be there for her again. With no warning, a convulsion rippled up from her diaphragm, tearing words from her subconscious, preformed like they'd been waiting for their turn. She cut Chuck off mid-ramble.

"I never get to keep anything! Everything I have, everything I love, it all gets taken away. People leave, or change, and they _die_. We're all going to _die_ and every beautiful thing just ends!" She heard the hysteria in her voice but stopping it might as well have been putting a cork in a fire hose. "I don't want to be alone but I can't take losing anyone again. I don't know what the hell to do!" She stopped taking a few deep breaths, her entire body vibrating. The other end of the line was absolutely silent, as was her room, and she realized she'd been shouting into the phone. The words echoed in her mind and she became acutely self-conscious.

Several seconds later she heard Chuck swallow then speak. "Wow. That's … a lot to keep bottled up." There was bewilderment in his voice and she wondered if he thought she was losing it.

"God I wish you were here, Chuck."

There was no response.

"Chuck, I need …"

"Yeah. Look, Sarah, sorry to cut you off, but I really need to go." His tone was suddenly flat. A lash across the face couldn't have hurt more. Apparently she was a little too crazy, even for him.

"What?"

"Yeah I know, but it's late already and we need to catch some Z's, alright? I'll catch you at a better time after you've had some rest." There was a click and then he was gone.

She felt a moment of relief, realizing he wasn't blowing her off — he'd used their message code to tell her it wasn't safe to talk — but the stark reality of her loneliness was never more apparent in her silent room. For a moment during their conversation it had felt like he was …

The knock at her door was just loud enough for her to hear. She was out of her bed in a single movement, flying towards the door, then caught a look at herself and the rest of her room in the full-length mirror.

_Screw it. Who would you be trying to fool anyway?_

She whipped open the door, skipping every single one her protocols, and was shocked by what she saw on the other side. It wasn't Chuck, or at least it wasn't the one she remembered. When he had showed up at his memorial he had looked a little drawn and malnourished, but that was positively healthy compared to how he looked now. The bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in days and the strain in his face, like a thin plaster mask ready to crack at the slightest pressure, told how he was barely holding it together. The fake beard and wig he was wearing hardly registered next to the change in him.

All the fear and hesitation Sarah had felt that awful night at the lake was gone in a breath. She wrapped herself around him in the doorway, pulling his head to the crook of her neck like she could bring him to good health with contact alone. His whole body melted into hers and then she felt a single hitch in his breathing.

That was all it took.

The first tremors were soundless, distant lightning presaging the thunder, but when her throat opened to let her take a breath, a high, strangled sob shattered the silence. She felt Chuck startle and release her, maybe worried he had broken her somehow, but she clung to him like a vine, pressing her face into his shoulder. That's when the crying really set in. The pain poured out of her in great, body-wracking sobs, becoming physical, like she was vomiting out a lifetime of fear, anger, loneliness, and most of all, the betrayal that it all ended in death. A dissociated part of her marveled at how distressed her body felt without any physical injury or illness, only emotional agony. And that agony had an endless reservoir. When she gasped for breath and it seemed like the torrent would ease up, she saw again that reel of faces lost to her, setting off another series of wrenching convulsions.

_You left me, Chuck! And then … I left you. This was all so stupid!_

Regret became anger and she cursed the whole situation. Since she had been old enough to voice it, all she had wanted — the one thing her father could never steal for her — was the kind of friendship she'd had with Chuck. That it had become a romance as well was a rare gift a person would be lucky to get _once_ in a lifetime. And she had thrown it away._ For what? Fear? _

_You wouldn't be the first._

The thought derailed her internal harangue before it had a chance to build.

_You're human, Sarah, not an island. You've had more than enough evidence of that._

In fact, she realized, it was that dependence and reliance that she and Chuck had for each other that had made the relationship so special. That internal scold she'd carried with her since her pre-teen years, that had maintained her cool veneer and had literally been a lifesaver throughout her career, could take a break. It wasn't needed here.

Even with acceptance, the quivering in her diaphragm wouldn't stop, her physical endurance letting it draw out far longer than necessary. It was a humbling experience, not having control of her own body or the wild swings of her emotions, and she kept her face pressed into Chuck's shoulder. She couldn't imagine how he would look at her. The weeping couldn't last forever though and finally, due to exhaustion or dehydration, it began to wind down. The residual shudders made it difficult to communicate, giving her the hiccupy stutter of a sobbing three-year-old.

"I-I-I'm so s-sorry, I'm s-s-so sorry …"

"Hey, you're okay. It's okay."

He said it gently, but there was a hoarseness in his voice that made her pull away and search his face. There were tear tracks across his drawn features which he wiped away hastily under her scrutiny, a futile gesture as his eyes were blazing red. She reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the lingering wetness there, and her face folded again. He matched hers and they cried quietly together. It occurred to her that this cycle could go on for quite some time unless she did something to interrupt it, so she took a deep breath and thought about her Porsche's coolant system till the last hitches died into the silence of her room.

Chuck spoke first, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I couldn't just watch you cry like that and not … you know." He waved at his face. "Here, hold on a second." He was up and out of her arms in a rush, the loss almost painful to her, then was back moments later with a box of Kleenex. She blew out her nose making a heroic honking sound while he dabbed gently at his own.

"I thought crying like this was supposed to make you feel better." She pushed her thumbs against the underside of her cheekbones, trying to relieve the pressure. "I feel like I just lost a fight with a semi and half of it is still stuck in my head."

Chuck's lips turned upward in a weary but genuine smile and he rested a hand on her shoulder. The moment his fingers began to work it was like heaven opened up inside her. She let out a low guttural moan letting her head fall forward. This seemed to spur him on and Chuck positioned himself behind her kneading her shoulders in earnest with both hands. All rational thought fell away as her body liquefied, slipping into a puddle on the floor.

She heard his voice at her ear, "Should I order you some tea or something? You've got to be dehydrated after all that," but her ability to articulate stopped at a low "mmmmm" that fell away into a sigh.

The hands continued their work till her grasp on consciousness began to slip, and the she felt herself being lifted and deposited on her sheets. When he lay down behind her, she stretched against him, burrowing into his warmth. Storm clouds hovered, so many things still unresolved, but those could wait. That warm bath of endorphins was too much to fight, floating her out to sea and dissolving her body into a hazy narcotic weightlessness.

* * *

Sarah hit the icy water with a slap, her skin smarting as she sank down into the suffocating depths. She kicked and raked her hands at the darkness, meeting no resistance, her body continuing to sink. Then a grip like frozen steel seized her shoulder, hauling her back towards the surface. Up and up she went, taking too long to reach the air. Running out of breath, she peered upward and felt a displacement as she caught her reflection in the undulating mirror of the surface. It was she who was above the water, reaching down into the depths, and her icy hand was clamped on Chuck's shoulder holding him down, waiting till he stopped struggling.

She gasped for air, her eyes flying open, briefly disoriented till she took in the familiarity of her room, illuminated by the bedside lamp. She turned quickly to find Chuck next to her on his side, uncovered, all of the sheets having migrated to her side. Quickly shaking off the dream she slowed her breathing and heart rate till her muscles unknit and the tingling receded from her fingertips. She felt some satisfaction seeing that her calm breathing technique was working again with little effort. Freeing herself from the covers, which were twisted around her torso like a Chinese finger trap, was a bit more difficult and she woke Chuck in the process.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You okay? Can't sleep?"

"Just woke up. Bad dream."

Chuck sat up, putting his hand on her shoulder, seemingly inviting her to elaborate.

"It was nothing, just one of those weird ones that don't make sense." She rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbed the half finished bottle of water she'd left there and took a swig. "Thirsty?" She offered the bottle to Chuck who took it from her. "Casey know you're here?" It was a question she should have asked him when she'd first answered the door and she felt a little sheepish at her lack of discipline.

He nodded, swallowing. "You're officially responsible for me, by the way … thank god. I haven't been out of Casey's sight for days. Don't want the broken Intersect off running around unsupervised. It's been fun. You know how The Casey loves his bonding time." His hands fidgeted with the bottle cap, twisting it on and off, and Sarah instantly became very conscious of the space between them.

"Chuck, I am so …"

He held his hand up, cutting her off. "Sarah, I told you it's okay."

"No!" It was louder than she'd intended and they both jumped. She continued in a low voice. "Don't say that if you don't mean it. I know it's not okay. I screwed up and left you. The things that Beckman might have done to you, what could have happened to your family, I wasn't there to prevent any of that."

"But nothing happened."

"Doesn't matter. I totally abandoned my partner. And, I didn't just leave, I flew across the damn country. I know that I hurt you. It matters a lot to me that you know how sorry I am for doing that."

"You had a lot of things going on."

"Chuck, don't make excuses for me. When we screw up we have to own it. We're partners; that's how it works." She paused, her head dropping forward. "We were partners."

"What? You think I'm sitting here right now because we_ were_ partners?"

The angry, betrayed tone in his voice surprised her as much as his words. She soundlessly opened and closed her mouth a few times, realizing she had no idea where she stood with him. "But … I left you. It kills me to know that I did that. On every level — as a professional, as a lover, and as a friend — it was just wrong. The cardinal rule, 'don't leave your partner', I broke it … and after your mother and father and Jill …"

"Okay first, Mom, Dad, and Jill aren't your fault and they don't enter into this."

She started to disagree but he held his hand up again.

"Second, _I_ screwed up too. I left my partner in the lurch … in Prague." Sarah dropped her gaze and Chuck hunched down, trying to catch her eye. "Remember how that ended?"

"I didn't exactly let you whine self-indulgently, cry on my shoulder, and give you a back rub when you tried to come back." Sarah recalled the slap she'd given him the first time she'd seen him after Prague. It had been quite a bit harder than it had needed to be.

"Yeah, well, that was a different situation, but we still ended up together."

"True." Sarah shook her head emitting a single humorless snort. "You know, we've always talked about being a good team together but sometimes we really suck at it." She finished with a smile to ease the sting.

"Maybe we just need more practice." His grin broke out, making his eyes crinkle. It was a beautiful thing to see, the lines of tension melting away, even more so when only hours earlier she'd thought she'd never see it again. As if he'd read this thought from her, his face fell.

She sighed heavily. "It's not that easy though, is it?"

Chuck stared at his hands for a moment. "You know Sarah, I have no idea. I wish I did."

And there it was. He had been so understanding, but she knew the hurt was still in there. He'd said so himself. She pressed her lips together, nodding, trying to keep her hands still.

"Oh, jeez, that didn't come out right. I love you, sweetie." He took her hand as he spoke. "And hard … easy … it doesn't matter to me. I'll take being with you however I can get it. But … you know me; I'm a worrier and a brooder. What happens if I get a little neurotic? What if it's not all sunshine and rainbows? And with the Intersect stuff …"

"You want to know if I'm going to run again." It wasn't a question.

He opened his mouth to speak then stopped himself, but she'd seen that he'd been about to agree. He tried again. "Look, I know you. I know it's hard, putting your faith in people. We screw up sometimes, and worse, we can get hurt, grow old … die. I just want to …"

Sarah cut him off, her cheeks burning. "Chuck, I really need you to know what running meant. I reacted because I didn't know what to do. I reacted horribly. That wasn't me making a choice. I know it doesn't make it better but … you just have no idea how bad off I was. I thought I was _so_ broken I …" The heat making her cheeks burn increased till it felt like her neck and face were glowing like a beacon. She continued quietly, almost to herself. "I was looking for ways to speed up the end."

"Oh, sweetie …"

"I know." She wanted to stare at the bed but she forced herself to meet his eyes. "It was stupid and selfish, but that's not the point. The point is, I acted on fear because I was out of my depth — I was out of my mind — but now I'm here with you, feeling like I have a future, a good future, and that's not a fluke. There's a reason you can trust it won't happen again."

"Because you worked through it?"

"Because I finally looked for help, Chuck. I can't tell you if that horrible feeling is ever going to come back. Something makes me think crying all over you isn't just going to fix everything, but I at least now I know it won't kill me. I suffered through it but I'm still here."

"Like the end of the Litany Against Fear."

She rolled her eyes. "You are truly a dork."

"Nerd." His smile flashed briefly. "You know, it's the only way Ellie and I ever survived everything we went through. Not the Litany, the talking. It made all the difference in the world. It's not just a personality quirk with us, it's survival." He paused for a moment and when he spoke again his affected nonchalance told her the question was a big one. "So, you don't think you've got this monster figured out?"

She kept her eyes steady on his. "I don't know. I don't know how anyone figures it out, dealing with losing people. I mean, god, what a waste. What we had — _have_ — could be wiped away by a single careless moment … or just given enough time. How do you deal with that?"

"Me? I dunno. I guess there's always been someone there for me — Ellie or Morgan — to get me through when that stuff came up. But what can you do about it really? I mean, I suppose some people have religion or raising kids, and there's always escape through drugs, alcohol, obsessions, hobbies … bonsai trees …" This earned him a twitch of her lips. "And I'm sure there are plenty who just try to never become attached."

"Yeah, there are those." Her eyes dropped for a moment.

"Hey, you had to deal with the anxiety somehow."

"You know the funny thing? The closer I've been to dying in reality — getting shot at, rubbing elbows with the enemy, throwing a shoulder into zombies — the less I worry about it ... until I stop and think about it for a moment."

"Yeah, you can't keep that up forever."

She shook her head. "I need my down time. I need a home to come back to. Babe, I chose you once without really knowing all of what it meant; the hard part for me isn't becoming attached ... becoming trapped, it's the fact that I could lose you. Now that I know, I still choose you … and Ellie and Devon and Morgan … your whole family. I don't want to be alone. God …"

"Oh hey, hey. Don't cry. What's the matter?"

Sarah shook her head, cracking a sheepish, watery smile. "I have no idea. I think I'd probably cry at a greeting card or a basket of kittens right now." It was a bit disconcerting but, returning from the brink like she was, she could overlook it … for the moment anyway.

She reached up to hold his face in her hands, taking in all the planes, curves, and crinkles that were more dear to her than anything. So many things she would have missed: his hands, the smell of him through his shirt, the obsessive way he worked on problems, his goofy eyebrows. As her eyes fixed on them he gave them a tentative waggle and she felt a snicker bubble up from her middle. It felt good. "It's just now sinking in … you're still here, after all of this. Maybe you still want to be my boyfriend?" The adolescent undertones of the word widened her smile.

"Fiancé." There was no hesitation.

Her hand jumped to her mouth and her eyes betrayed her again. "You still want …"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Yes!" A heat began in her belly like a small sun was shining there, spreading outward to the tips of her fingers and toes.

"God, I missed you so much, Sar …" Her lips didn't let him finish, ending the spoken part of their reconciliation one syllable early. Never breaking the kiss she took his hands in hers, placing them on her hips, knowing they would find their way around to a firmer grip soon after. Though no words were spoken she felt he understood her just fine.

* * *

_God, I feel like I just slept for a year._

The brilliant white corona around her blackout curtains told her the sun had been up for quite a while. Considering it had probably been about to creep over the horizon when she'd fallen asleep the second time, tangled up with Chuck, that wasn't much of a surprise. Today it didn't matter — Chuck was hidden; mission accomplished — so she languished, studying the patterns of his dark chest hair flowing and spiraling over his faintly olive skin.

Her mind began to drift into warm, amiable waters, thinking about the myriad ways to make love. It wasn't the logistics of making this and that meet in a pleasurable way or waking the carnal creatures inside them that had her mind wandering — far from unimportant though, since what was the point if it didn't make your heart race and your body sing. This morning her thoughts were about the ways two people could accomplish something together.

This time had been desperate, urgent, in some ways like their first time though for different reasons. There wasn't the limited time window or the cramped rental car on a public street or the thrill of rebelling against Beckman and Shaw. This time the urgency had been all about getting back to _that_ place, the bubble, that warm piece of real estate where no doubts could trespass. Had they reached it? They'd certainly both been keenly present and come to satisfying conclusions, tangling happily in the afterglow, but good sex could cover up a lot of problems. She'd seen enough evidence of that.

"If there's anything I can do to make that furrow between your brows go away, just say the word." Chuck's lazy drawl, laced with warm morning-after suggestion, chased the doubts right out of her head. "Huh … well that was easy."

Sometimes the simplest things earned him a kiss. A short time later they paused for breath and he regarded her with a thoughtful look.

"So what's on your mind?"

"Nothing now."

His eyes narrowed a fraction. "What _was_ on your mind?"

"I don't know. It's just kind of amazing that you're here with me. How _are_ you here anyway?"

"By airplane … then car. Oh, and I walked over here so I guess by foot too."

It was Sarah's turn to narrow her eyes. "I'd call you a smartass but I think you'd take it as a compliment." The shit-eating grin told her she was right. "So, you were stalking me?"

"Maybe … with Casey's help."

"And what was with your "where are you now" line?"

"Just making conversation. It was weird with all that awkwardness last night."

"Yeah." She had no desire to revisit any of that though and changed the subject. "How much did you have to promise to rope Casey into it?"

"Surprisingly not a whole lot. I think he was worried you weren't coming back." She let her eyebrows jump at that. "I don't think he wanted to take your job of dealing with the icky stuff."

"Feelings?"

"As I said …"

She smiled, feeling a younger sister fondness for the man. "You think he knows how predictable he is?"

Chuck shrugged his shoulders. "I should give him credit though. I think he actually was worried about you. I think he might have known more than a few people who've seen bad stuff and lost it." His eyes widened a fraction. "Sorry. I didn't mean …"

"It's okay, babe. We can be honest about it. I _did_ lose it." She took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying to shrug off her defensiveness and embarrassment.

"It's kinda like looking at a grave yard in the daylight, when it scared the crap out of you the night before, isn't it?"

She nodded at the aptness of his description. "So you've had some experience."

"Look who you're talking to. I'm more anxious than Donald Trump in a ceiling fan store."

She smiled, curling his hair around her pinky. "Maybe when I first met you. I've seen a lot less of that these days."

"Trust me, it's in there, sweetie. I've just been following what you taught me: focus on the problems I can solve and worry about the other ones later."

"Hmmm. You listen to me better than I do." She let herself be pulled down to her spot on his shoulder and nuzzled in, running her hand over his chest. Her fingers thrummed over the moguls of his ribs. "And _there_ is a problem that needs solving. You're like skin and bones!"

"Am not."

"Yes you are …" She reached across him for her bedside table. "… and it's partly my fault too. Ah-ah … no denying it. It's true, but it's nothing a huge room service bill can't fix. Here …" She handed him the room service menu she'd already memorized. "Pick six things … and no cheating; juice doesn't count."

"How big do you think my stomach is?"

"Don't even start! I've seen you put away an entire pizza. Now start picking your breakfast. We need to fatten you up, and then we'll start with your physical conditioning and skills training. I need you strong and alert because we're nowhere near safe or done with this business. And we're going to need to test the Intersect …" She heard the drill instructor tone in her voice as she began listing the upcoming regimen and felt a little of her equilibrium return. As she ticked off the last item, she saw the bright flash of Chuck's grin, free of any of the sadness that had been lingering in his expression, and wondered if he felt the same.

"God I missed you, sweetie."

"I missed you too, babe."

Maybe it was just that easy.

* * *

**A/N**: ... or was it?

No really, it's all good.

*Shakes head skeptically*

Okay, no really, no more angst.

*Raises eyebrows, looks to the side, whistling a tune*

God I love Eddie Izzard.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N**: So, it's been a while hasn't it. This chapter was actually supposed to be part of a larger chapter (thus it doesn't move the intrigue plot along any) but it's been, what, six months? I needed to post something.

Last time we saw our couple they were putting the pieces back together in the hotel room in DC.

* * *

"Sweetie, can I ask you a question?"

Sarah reached down to peel Chuck off the training mat. "So I get a choice now?" She quirked a smile as she pulled him up then dropped into a fighting stance.

"Of course. Always."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm getting better."

"Mm." She attacked in a blink, distracting him with a flurry of assaults with knee, heel, and palm, while easily getting inside his reach. He only managed a short frustrated grunt when he went airborne over her outthrust hip.

"Well, you're not getting any better at seeing that coming." She held her hand out to him again and pulled him up. She might have taken it a little easier on him but the undisciplined little shit had winked at her at the beginning of the session, and she wasn't having any of that. Work was work, and play was play. This was especially important now that he was lacking the physical abilities the Intersect had given him. "You know, you need to be taking this more seriously for it to do any good."

"It's kinda hard when you look like that." He waved vaguely in her direction.

"Doesn't matter. When we're on the mat, I'm not your fiancé. Think of me as your worst nightmare."

"Casey in a Playboy Bunny costume reading poetry to me in bed?"

Sarah blinked, swallowing back bile, and only ducked a well-timed kick at the last second. "That's a bit more specific than I was thinking. Is there something I should know about you two?"

"What? No! It was just a bad dream." His features became haunted and his voice shrank to a low mumble. "Never eat pizza before bedtime."

"Uh-huh." She squinted at him while taking quick probing jabs at his chin. "So what was your question?"

"My question? Oh …" He gave his head a little shake, getting his feet moving again. "What's your number?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your number …"

"Babe, we haven't left the hotel room for anything other than the private gym for weeks. Besides, you better have all my numbers memorized or …" She struck quickly. Her foot lashed out at his midsection, meeting a parry. He grasped for her, looking to use his leverage advantage, but she easily dodged with a neat sidestep and they squared off again.

"No, not your phone number. I mean, the number of … you know … guys that you've …"

"Ah. That number." _Great. I guess it was only a matter of time. _"You sure you want to go there?"

His guard and his face fell simultaneously. "That many?"

She lunged without warning, dropping him for the principle of it. Though it felt a bit like kicking a cowering dog, she needed him to understand, losing focus meant getting hurt. And besides, what was the deal with him being so superhumanly understanding of the way she'd slipped off to DC like a fugitive, but when it came to how many men she'd slept with before him … "Why is it always such a hang up with you boys?"

He remained sitting on the mat, staring at his hands between his knees. "Sorry. It's probably none of my business."

"Oh, come on. Don't pout." She grabbed his hand, yanking him up. "We're engaged. I think we're entitled to each others' histories." They squared off. "It's sixty-four, by the way."

He barely put up a fight as she threw him to the mat again and Sarah seriously began to question the educational value of the session. He sat up quickly, searching her face. "Sixty-four? Sixty-four!"

"Maybe sixty-five. You lose count after the first thirty or so."

"There's no … how is that even poss — oh"

She snickered quietly, letting him rest a moment.

"Is it even any fun when I'm that easy?"

"Oh it's still fun." She crouched down and started kneading the shoulder that had been bothering him, but he turned around to face her after only a few seconds.

"So what's the actual number?"

"Why are you so obsessed with something that's only going to make you unhappy?"

"I don't know … but now that you're avoiding the question, I can't stop thinking about it. I'd tell you mine, but I'm sure you already know it."

She did.

"I'm not avoiding it, babe." She yanked him to his feet and checked her watch, which was resting next to her towel at the edge of the mat. "Come on. We gotta get moving." She grabbed both towel and watch, heading for the exit. The workout had been far from satisfying, but for the first time in a couple of weeks they had a schedule to keep, so she couldn't end it on a high note. At the end of the hall she turned back to him, realizing he'd never let it go. "It's seven. The number is seven, okay."

"Oh." The elevator arrived with a chime and they got on. "Wait, is that including me?"

"Um …"

"So eight total then?"

She nodded, hoping that he was satisfied but knowing better. Amazingly, he didn't mention it again all the way through their room service breakfast, but afterwards, as they brushed their teeth, she saw the gears begin to turn.

He spit first. "So … seven other men …"

She spit next, giving him a foamy smile. "Who said they were all men?"

She dipped her head to rinse out her mouth with the faucet, letting him sit with that for a good thirty seconds before turning back to him. When she did she could see the entire bathroom was reflected in his dinner plate sized pupils and she decided for her own sake not to read too much into the curious, hopeful, maybe a little hungry, look she saw there. He swallowed once.

"God, you're right; it isn't any fun when you're that easy." She ruffled his hair then peeled out of her workout clothes.

Chuck remained stock still for a moment before doing the same. "You know, I think I'm gonna stop believing anything you say." He stuck his tongue out at her, and she mugged wide-eyed innocence. "And it's really not fair, you know, because the only way I can imagine that happening is with you and Carina … and that would just break my mind."

Her good humor evaporated in an instant. She kept her voice light, forcing her lips to twitch upward as she asked, "Why would that break your mind?"

The sudden silence was deafening and not lost on Chuck as his eyes flew wide. "Oh, hey, sweetie. Don't take that the wrong way."

She turned a mild, quizzical look on him, still not giving in. "What do you mean?"

"Okay, yes, Carina is a very attractive woman …" He took her shoulders in his hands, obviously not buying the act. "… but the only word that comes to mind if I think about her is "trouble". You remember she tried to seduce me once, right? Before you and I got together? I stayed away, even then, because I wanted you instead … and because she scares me."

"Smart boy." She let him pull her into a hug, suddenly feeling like the world's biggest hypocrite for the warm fuzzies blossoming inside her. Though who wasn't susceptible to a little jealousy now and then? Obviously Chuck wasn't immune.

"Besides, there's no room in my head for fantasies when you look like you do …" She felt the rumble of his voice through his chest and prepared for battle. "… and feel like you do." His hands began to roam and she knew exactly where they were headed.

"Babe? Chuck?" The hands didn't stop and the lips started exploring. "Chuck!" He jumped back at her shout, looking chagrined. "Not now. Shower time."

He made a plaintive sound in his throat.

"Later. Now get moving. Maybe you should start with cold water."

He took her literally, of course, which she discovered when she stepped into the spray of glacial runoff, unable to suppress a shriek. The little snort he made as he tried to slip out of the shower, guaranteed his demise. Despite profuse, though not so sincere apology, he was pinned to the floor in seconds, getting his chest hairs removed one at a time. Exactly how she ended up, only minutes later, clinging to the edge of the bathroom counter for dear life, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, she couldn't say, though she knew she hadn't been an unwilling participant. There had to be some balance between discipline and spontaneity.

By some miracle, they were able to get kitted out in only another forty minutes and found themselves enjoying their first stroll outside the Churchill in weeks, fast-walking down Connecticut towards DuPont Circle. Though her flush had faded long before they'd left the hotel, endorphins still coursed through her system and she had to stop herself from bouncing as she walked. Taking in the all the little restaurants and shop faces, already decked out for the holidays, and the chill in the air that was always missing in LA, she found herself looking forward to Christmas for the first time in … well, ever. It would definitely take another block or two to get her game face on.

She turned to Chuck as he'd been unusually quiet, worried where his head was, but the beard and glasses he'd chosen — and, she noted with a little pride, had chosen well — hid his expression.

"Sarah?"

_Uh-oh. _"Yeah, babe?"

"Were most of the other guys … were they with the Company … or even contractors?"

She sighed inwardly, though she noticed he was keeping his eyes moving, and his guard up. She could indulge him as long as he stayed alert, especially if it let her distract him from his train of thought.

"Company, mostly … and two that were a little less official. You remember how I got started in this business … the band of miscreants?"

He nodded. "So how does that work? I mean … I don't know … I can't imagine getting close with someone I hardly know."

_Whoa. Getting a little judgmental there, babe. _"It wasn't like that. It's not like we just randomly …" She paused, realizing she was sounding defensive, which was not at all the signal she wanted to give. "I did know things about them. They weren't complete black boxes. Okay, granted, when I started everyone was just a dossier to me, and I was happy they knew just as little about me as I did about them."

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed his gaze had dropped to the sidewalk in front of him.

"_Hey_, eyes on the street."

His head snapped up and she hoped he was feeling a bit chagrined. She needed his eyes to do double duty now that most of the Intersect's facial recognition functionality had returned.

"Look, this is how it works, and maybe it's different for the nerds and academics — the analysts — but for the people that do what I do, when you're on the job, you learn about them in a weird way. Everyone checks everyone else out, snooping a little here and there, watching for red flags and things that don't add up. It's a dance on eggshells at times. You have to be so guarded with all the compartmentalization. And no one wants to be seen as a weak link. But you're still curious. We're all just human beings after all."

She heard him make a disbelieving grunt but decided to ignore it. Chuck had had a very skewed exposure to people in the intelligence community.

"And when I was working some of the more … exiting jobs, people definitely got a little friendlier once they knew I wasn't going to get them killed. I mean, they still only notice you for your capabilities at that point. Everybody's a position player. Your identity to everyone else is your part in the job." She lowered her voice. "Wheels, foots, escorts, assault team … that sort of thing. But you know, it doesn't stay like that. You're trusting your life to these people sometimes, so no matter all the barriers you put up, there's emotions there you can't control, at least if you're not a sociopath." She felt a bubble of memories rise up. "You really notice it when you come back from finishing a job, when the adrenaline is still riding high but you know you made it back safe. That's when the boys notice the girls and the girls notice the boys. Well okay, once, one of the boys noticed one of the other boys, but you get the picture." She lowered her voice again. "You remember when we took out those two fake cops in my room? You remember afterwards? That's how it happens." She stopped talking, realizing she'd let her reminiscing get away from her.

"Is that how it started with you and Bryce?"

Her jaw clenched for a moment as she swore in her head. All her talking hadn't distracted him one bit. "Maybe … for me anyway. For him … who knows." She glanced at Chuck for his reaction but his eyes were still on the street. She was about to continue when Chuck cut in with his real question.

"What about the Traitor?"

_And there it is._

She'd been waiting since he'd lit the fuse down in the gym, asking about her "number", but had hoped the bomb wouldn't go off until they'd gotten back to their room.

"Chuck, Daniel was … actually, you know what? Forget it. I know it's still hard for you to think about me being with him, but do you realize I don't really like to think about it either?"

"So, just to be clear, you did sleep with him?"

"Oh Jesus, yes! Is that all that matters?"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him drop his head, sighing. "Sorry."

His eyes stayed on the sidewalk as they walked and Sarah felt her anxiety ratchet up a level. This wouldn't do. She stopped walking and bent over to fix her shoe, checking behind to make sure the woman that had been half a block back since they'd looped around S and 20th, then R and onto Connecticut again, was no longer following them. Satisfied she straightened and pushed Chuck towards the door of a record Shop they were about to pass, practically shoving him inside. She smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter and dragged Chuck to the shelves at the back of the store, pretending to peruse Jazz/Soul, K through L.

"What?" There was mild alarm and irritation in his voice.

"I thought you'd be okay talking about this but you're obviously too distracted, so I got us off the street."

"Sorry, I'll be good. I can deal …"

"Nope." He might have been telling the truth, as she'd noticed his new ability to shut down his thoughts, but she didn't want to encourage that too much. Being able to focus was one thing, but becoming Bryce was something else entirely. "We're getting this out of the way now, then we go back to work. We'll only be a few minutes behind schedule and Casey'll get over it … eventually." She turned Chuck so he was facing her. "Babe, I hope you understand that sleeping with … him … isn't something I'm going to apologize for."

"I know that. I never asked you to." He clipped his words as he spoke.

She took a deep breath and blew out as much defensiveness as she could. "You're right, you haven't. I'm sorry. I'm just worried that this is still bothering you when the man's dead and I'm going to marry you soon."

"Yeah." There was little enthusiasm in voice. "I just wish I understood what you saw in him …"

"Does it matter? Whatever I saw or thought I saw, I was mistaken. Do you want to beat me up for that? And should we bring up Jill?"

"No … wait, what about Jill?"

Sarah arched her eyebrow.

"Fine, point taken …"

"Sorry …"

"… but I wasn't questioning your judgment. Look, Bryce and Shaw … I'm nothing like them. I just want to know where I fit in.

"How you fit? Chuck, what the hell?" She paused, lowering her voice, realizing the shopkeeper was getting more drama than she needed to hear. "Shaw was an outlier … just a diversion. I figured that out pretty quickly that it wasn't going any farther, even if he hadn't been a monster." Though it was weird how a monster could come in such a pretty package. That was probably the only reason it had gone beyond just the one time. "And Bryce … you remember we broke up, right? That wasn't just because of the … the thing he stole."

He didn't respond right away and she knew he was working towards the crux of the matter.

_Just spit it out, Chuck._

He wouldn't meet her eyes as he spoke. "You're right. It's just … I'm just wondering if I'm the nice guy … the safe guy you come along and marry after having all your fun."

Sarah fought the urge to close her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose, instead counting to ten and blowing out a long breath. A syrupy version of 'Oh Holy Night' was playing over the store's sound system and for a moment she wondered why every pop star seemed to feel that the world needed their version of the Christmas classics. It certainly helped to reroute her frustration though.

_Okay, Chuck. Maybe I've given you reason to be insecure_.

He'd certainly held back any number of recriminations he could have flung at her when she'd run off on him. She realized this could be how repressed hurt resurfaced for Chuck. It was bad timing to be sure, but that seemed to be their whole relationship to this point. She decided she owed him the patience he'd had with her when she'd called him for help.

"First of all, there's nothing wrong with being a nice guy. Nice guys don't murder, torture, and commit genocide. At any point in my life I wouldn't want to be with anyone _but_ a nice guy." Her voice began to take on heat as she spoke. "Second, you're obviously more than a nice guy. You're brave and smart and can hold your own in situations that would make most people pee themselves, literally. Face it, as big of a nerd as you are, you're still kind of a badass." She saw him try to look away, maybe thinking she was patronizing him, so she grabbed his jaw and held his gaze. The action quickened her pulse and she let herself get carried away. "And finally, you may be the nice guy I want to marry but you're also the nice guy I want in my bed every night. The one I want to fuck senseless thirty ways from next Tuesday till the cops come to take us away for crimes against nature."

She could see by the way his mouth hung open that she had his attention. Now it was time to get the message across. She framed his face with her hands.

"But I shouldn't have to keep doing this, Chuck. You don't have to compete with those other men; I'm here with you, not them. You need to _trust_ me that isn't by accident. I chose to be with you. You're the one I want to build a life with. You need to believe that, and not just in here." She tapped his temple. "So get it through that thick head of yours..." She emphasized each of her next words by giving his head a little shake. "... you are good enough for me."

He was silent in response, but this time held her eyes. She waited him out, watching the shadow on his features slip away till he finally cracked a smile.

"Can we go back to that 'thirty ways from next Tuesday' thing?"

This stole a snort from her before she could stop it, then she curled her lip at him, giving his face a little slap. "Cute, babe. So, are we good then?"

"Yeah, we're good. Sorry for being a whiny jackass … and for bringing up the 'S' word."

"And I'm still sorry for running away and making you doubt me … and for bringing up the 'J' word. Shall we?" She turned to go, taking his hand.

He stopped her, turning her back towards him. "Just don't forget, I could say the same thing to you … that you're good enough for me."

"Well, we already knew that, Chuck." Her words were dry as a bone, and she was relieved to see him shake his head and turn his eyes to the ceiling in mock exasperation instead of taking her seriously. "I know what you meant." She squeezed his hand and as they turned to leave, she saw, for the first time that morning, not a single hint of concern in his smile. They stepped back into the pre-Christmas chill, and Sarah slipped her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. Though the world hadn't gotten any less crazy, though Ellie hated her, Beckman didn't trust her, and neither did Steven for that matter, she didn't have a doubt in her mind for her future with Chuck.

Now they just had to finish this one job.

* * *

Alright, two more chapters to come and the last one is almost completely written. I just need to get through the next one.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N**: Yeah, I know. It's just that this thing I do to pay the bills keeps interrupting. So anyway, last time on ROTB, Sarah and Chuck had left the hotel room they had holed up in for several weeks, repairing themselves and their relationship, and were headed to One Last Mission (TM). Let's see how that goes:

* * *

_Yup. I remember this._

Sarah had kept herself up the night before, fretting over her readiness after weeks spent holed up in a hotel room, mending wounds and making love like a newlywed. Now, no more than a block away from their destination, she realized she needn't have worried. Once the adrenaline spiked her bloodstream she slipped into her operations sense like she'd never left it. Some people claimed to be able to taste colors or sounds. Sarah would say that she could taste intentions. She watched the tourists scanning shop faces for the place to get that last minute gift, locals navigating the sidewalks by feel, their eyes glued to touchscreens, and addicts making the midmorning migration in search of a latte, but not a single question mark or red flag troubled her calm. It was just a mundane prelude to a simple operation. She almost felt disappointed.

Keeping pace to her left, Chuck felt otherwise. Those pleasant weeks divided between physical exertion and practiced lounging, far more of both in bed than anywhere else, had honed his appreciation of leisure to a fine point, and his preparedness for reentering the world had suffered. Now that his earlier distraction with Sarah's sexual history had been settled he began to notice the increasing bustle of Dupont Circle and it was making him uncomfortable.

"Is it just me or is everyone just a bit too _here_ today?"

"It's the season, babe. Aren't you supposed to be mister Christmas spirit?"

"Well, I could do without all the hurrying and people. Besides, Christmas involves enlistment into the Ellie cookie baking extravaganza, not surveil—uh—work. Work that I've been away from for way too long. And you don't have to say it …"

"Should've taken your training more seriously."

"… but you will anyway."

"Only until you listen to me." She hip checked him and he looked to see her quirking her lips in a lopsided smile. "Oh, you'll be fine. We're going to sit around and be bored while everyone else does the heavy lifting."

A grunt rumbled in Chuck's earwig letting him know his booster pack was in range of Casey's transmitter.

"Okay, almost everyone."

Casey had chafed at being sidelined with team Bartowski, following up on a low priority lead while the biggest operation in Intelligence history, Operation Sundown, went down all around them. With extreme caution, thousands of FBI agents, CIA internal affairs officers, local law enforcement, and US Marshalls had been recruited for a simultaneous takedown of all the known Ring cells across the country. It would be legendary, action to be had, names to be made, stories to be told, and Casey would be riding it out in the van listening to it all through a pair of headphones. Chuck reminded himself to buy the man a bottle of something old for the holiday.

They came to the entrance of Kramerbooks and Chuck paused before entering.

_Man, what a difference a few weeks can make._

Hadn't he been the one to walk right down into Castle alone knowing he was part of Shaw's final plan. Hadn't he marched right into that big ship where the Ring was waiting. Now he was standing in a bookstore getting sweaty palms over a few aisles of Christmas shoppers.

Still, he had a job to do and wasn't going to let his team down, quickly scanning the faces of browsing customers, making sure to check in the big convex mirror overhead. Nothing tripped the Intersect — almost a surprise in a target rich environment like DC — and a single squeeze of Sarah's hand gave the all clear. He took up position where two shelves met at an angle to create an alcove, using Sarah to shield him from the other shoppers — Casey would have called it hiding. Chuck then picked up a book bearing a bright read cover and pretended to peruse it.

_Le Carré? You're kidding me. _He tried another._ Flemming? Oh Christ._

He scanned a few more authors then did his best to tell himself it was only a coincidence that he was standing in front of a promo section for spy novels. This did little to still his anxiety. He felt the heat under his collar blazing like a furnace and wondered if he looked as conspicuous as he felt. It couldn't be helping, the way he was scratching at the scar on his back where Sarah had removed his tracker. Suddenly a hard pinch clamped down on his left buttock and he nearly yelped, turning to see Sarah looking at him expectantly. He realized he'd been holding his breath and let it out.

"There you go. Don't freak out, Babe. We're just doing Christmas shopping and people watching, right?"

"Yeah."

"Here, why don't you help me find a Christmas present for your sister."

_Right. One more thing to be stressed about. Speaking of ..._ "Make sure it doesn't have any sharp edges."

He'd hoped for at least a snicker but got no response. She didn't even meet his eyes.

"This thing with my sister is really getting to you, huh."

Again, no response.

"And it's not just because she's my sister, either. I mean, you really miss being her friend."

Sarah remained silent and Chuck considered dropping the topic, but after a moment she spoke in a low voice. "Her being your sister is what makes being friends impossible."

He tried interpreting the way she meant that and gave up. "I don't think that's true. You guys were friends before. There had to be something there."

"As far as she's concerned that was all a lie. Now I'm the evil one who corrupted you into this life and brought all this … You know what? We can talk about this later."

"Somehow I doubt that. You're amazing at avoiding things."

"Talking about it doesn't change anything. I took advantage of your sister's trust and all she got out of it was this mess. She didn't ask to be involved and neither did Devon … or Morgan."

"To be fair, Morgan's having the time of his life right now. And you're right, Ellie and Devon didn't ask for this, but I could have done something to protect them too and I didn't. You remember that I made a big decision a while back there that kept us all in this mess, so this isn't all on you. You don't have to be the martyr …" Chuck stopped as Sarah's eyes flashed. "Sorry, I just mean …"

"Oh for god's sake! Anyone remember what it is that we're doing here?" Chuck had almost forgotten that Casey was still listening. "Group therapy hour is over. Get to work and shut your holes."

"Okay, fine. I'm done … except just … don't give up on her, Sweetie. I think you two could still be friends."

Sarah raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"I'm serious ... wait … holy crap! I can't believe you just did it." Chuck's attention had been diverted mid sentence.

"I … what?"

"The eyebrow trick … raising the one without the other."

"What are you …" She was looking at him as if he'd dropped his pants and begun barking show tunes, then he saw it dawn on her. "Really? I couldn't even feel it. Of course it'd be now when I'm not standing in front of a mirror."

"Let's see if you can do it again. You were looking mad when I said, 'I don't think she'll hate you,' and then you …"

"It's like I'm listening to grade school during a Ritalin shortage. Quit the bullshit, both of you!" Casey was not a happy van sitter. "X-ray just dropped into the pattern for a western approach. You got maybe a minute."

Sarah gave Chuck a quick eye roll then pulled him in the direction of the bar. On the way she grabbed a book and handed it back to him.

Chuck looked at the cover. "Pregnancy yoga? Uh … I don't think I'm the target market …"

"Not for you."

"Oh … oh! Really? Wow. I guess I always thought we'd be married before …" He stopped as Sarah had turned and given him the look, then he cleared his throat. "Sorry. Smartass Chuck is done talking. Yes, I think Ellie would like it."

Sarah took a seat at the bar turning to face him and, he presumed, to watch the entrance to the bookstore. They both ordered pints of stout, which had the lowest alcohol content of the beers on tap, though neither would do more than sip anyway. Chuck turned back to Sarah looking to resume their conversation about Ellie and caught the moment their target entered the store by the subtlest change in her eyes.

"Touchdown?"

"Mmmhmm. Movement?"

Chuck pulled out his burner phone and pretended to scan the screen while surveying the café behind Sarah. "Not yet." He hoped this wouldn't be a slow one.

And maybe it wouldn't. Before he could put his phone back in his pocket the muscles in Sarah's jaw went rigid, something unexpected having caught her attention. She blinked twice before speaking. "Small world. I actually just saw four of my guy friends from college walk by outside."

At the word "actually" Chuck's felt needles of ice slide into his stomach. Four bogeys, potentially hostile. Casey apparently picked up on it as well, speaking into their earwigs. "From your shop?"

Sarah answered with a single "mmm".

"Not ours then." Casey's voice sounded distracted and Chuck imagined him scanning the Sundown operation schedule. "Nothing going down here today except our meet."

Chuck fought to keep his eyes from searching the cafe. "Did they see you?" He had a hundred other questions but that was the only one that could be interpreted benignly by outsiders.

"Don't think so. No need to bother them though. They looked busy."

Casey spoke again. "Coincidence? It _is_ DC. Your call though. Want to cut and run?"

Sarah took the pint glass the bartender had set in front of her and brought it to her lips taking no more than a sip. She was thoughtful a moment. "This is nice. I kinda like it here. I say we stay for a few drinks before we head back into the fray. What do you think?"

_Hell no! Let's go home and call it a day._ Chuck had been the one campaigning for his team to follow up on a potential meeting with their target, a congressional aide that Fabrice's network prediction program had turned up as a borderline probable player, but now he was wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Cabin fever was no basis for making operational decisions. Still, he trusted Sarah's judgment. "Sure. Buzzed Christmas shopping is best Christmas shopping."

"Cheers to that." Sarah winked at him and clinked his glass. At the same moment Chuck's phone buzzed in his hand, shocking him so much he nearly dropped it into his beer.

"Hello?"

"Hey!" The sunny tone of Ellie's voice made Chuck instantly nervous. The last few times he'd talked to her on the phone, the burners being their only line of communication in DC, her business-like manner had been just the thinnest veneer over her resentment and frustration. If he'd pushed her to wheedling to get information out of him he was going to hate himself even more.

"Hi, Ellie." Sarah's eyes widened at this and she gave him a shake of her head. They weren't to be distracted. "Um, Sis … now's not the best …"

"Oh, I'm sure you have very important business to attend to in your hotel room, but you can spare a moment for your sister."

_And there it is, still pissed._

"Sorry, Chuck. I didn't call to yell at you. I mean, I still wish I knew why we're stuck here in DC, living like we're in witness protection but …" She paused as she often had, probably hoping that this time would lead to an explanation. "Anyway, guess what I did today."

"Uh ... made cookies?"

"No, that's what I would be doing if I was actually home, where I should be. No, I got to go outside today for the first time in weeks. I even saw sunlight and everything."

"You know I'm really sorry, El ..."

"Anyway, guess who I just ran into."

Chuck sighed, knowing forgiveness was nowhere in sight. "Who?"

"Mr. Groesbeck."

Chuck had the feeling he was expected to know who that was. "Who?"

"Henrik Groesbeck."

"Who?"

"You sound like an owl, Chuck. The glasses guy. Remember, Mom got all worked up? Helped us out right after Dad left, got you into Stanford, always used to drop in when we needed something … is none of this ringing a bell?"

"Okay, seriously, I have no idea who you're talking about. Got me into Stanford? I'm the one that got me into Stanford."

Sarah became alert at the name of his Alma Mater.

"I know that, but there was that hold on your application and then Henrik said he'd make a few calls and then two weeks later you got an acceptance letter. I'm not saying you didn't get in on your own merits but he did help. How do you not remember this?"

"Did you just get replaced by Alternate Universe Ellie? Because I'm suddenly feeling like I'm in an episode of the Twilight Zone."

"Oh jeez, Chuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be giving you a hard time. It's okay that you don't remember. There's always some temporary loss with concussions, but it'll come back. Don't stress out over it. I just thought you'd remember those virtual reality glasses. They were all you could talk about before …"

"Wait … what virtual reality glasses?" Sarah's eyes widened at this and he could tell she wanted to tear the phone out of his hand and start interrogating Ellie herself.

"The ones he left for Dad. You wanted to try them so bad but I wouldn't let you because they weren't for us. He should have known better than to put that kind of temptation in front of you. And then Mom found out about them and went paranoid ballistic; you know the way she was at the end. You can't tell me you don't remember that."

In fact, something about the story did tickle a memory in the back of Chuck's subconscious. "That was right before Mom left, wasn't it?"

"See, you do remember. And then I had to talk you down ..."

"Because I thought it was my fault she left." Chuck began to feel a freezing numbness descend on his body. "Ellie, can you describe Henrik to me?"

"I don't think that's going to help you …"

"Could you try anyway?"

"Okay, but don't be disappointed if you still don't remember. Let's see. He's older now than when you knew him so his hair is more grey than blonde. Mustache, stocky, always wearing a cardigan and Birkenstocks, has some kind of northern European accent …"

"Mole on his left cheekbone?" Chuck knew the answer before he asked but was praying he was wrong.

"Um … actually yeah, he does. See, you're worrying over nothing. It's coming back to you."

"I guess so." Chuck's heart was hammering now and he did his best to keep the fear from entering his voice. "Is he still there with you?"

"Henrik? No. We didn't get to catch up all that much. He asked about you, but I just told him you were back in Burbank. Then he borrowed my phone to make a call and … oh. I'm not supposed to do that am I? But he's kind of a friend of the family."

"It's okay, El." _No it's not._ "Just don't let it happen again. Hey, listen. We gotta get going. We've got some shopping to do then were going to take the Metro to the Smithsonian, but maybe we can meet up later."

Sarah's head snapped into motion, scanning the bar, café, and bookstore, no longer trying to remain discreet. Taking the Metro to the Smithsonian was code for Ellie to find somewhere safe and call her security detail.

Ellie paused a little too long before responding, her voice uneven when she finally spoke. "Chuck, are you sure?"

"Absolutely. We haven't done any tourist things since we got here and the Metro and the Smithsonian are on the list." It sounded so forced, repeating the code, but he needed Ellie to understand he was serious.

"Okay. Will you call me later when you guys are done?" Her voice was still wavering and he hated not being able to reassure her.

"Sure. Now I know you've got lot's of Christmas shopping still to do so I'll let you go, okay?"

"Um …" He could tell she didn't want to get off the phone. "Okay. I love you little brother."

"I love you too, Sis."

Chuck hung up, wincing. She definitely didn't deserve this and was totally unprepared for this kind of thing. Anyone listening to the end of the conversation would have known something was up. That included Sarah, whose impatient stare was demanding answers.

Chuck found his mouth had gone dry so he took a small sip of beer before speaking. "Van Breeda. He got to Ellie's phone and I'm sure he's tracing us right now."

"Shit!" Casey's outburst blasted in his ear. "Are you sure?"

"She let him use her phone, then she called me."

"How ... nevermind. I'll be at the bookstore entrance in one. Be outside before I get there."

Sarah took Chuck's phone and placed it on the bar along with her own and a twenty. She left the book on the stool. "Okay, Babe, let's move."

They headed for the bookstore entrance but only made it a few steps before Chuck locked onto their earlier target flashing before he could stop it: Sherilynn Bartok, a lawyer and K Street veteran who might or might not have been Ring liaison to the senator most likely to be the next Senate Intelligence Chair. She was on the phone and …

_Wait a minute. _

It was the second time she had glanced at them since they'd gotten up from the bar.

"Crap. I think Bartok's watching us. She's spotting for them."

"I know. Don't worry about her, it's the other four we need to keep our eyes out for."

"No, damn it!" Casey's voice crackled in Chuck's ear. "Not now!"

"What is it?" Sarah wasn't even attempting to make it look like she was talking to Chuck anymore.

"The cops are here. They're knocking on the windshield."

"Don't worry. We'll come to you." Sarah's voice was calm but Chuck could hear tension behind it.

"No, wait …" Whatever else Casey had wanted to say was cutoff by a gentle hiss of static.

Sarah's grip on Chuck's hand tightened. "There's no way the cops showing up are a coincidence. Damn his people move fast. Okay, we're on our own, Chuck. You ready to run?"

"Shouldn't we stay in a public …"

"No!" Her head swiveled between the two exits then she took off towards the café side nearly dragging him behind her. It occurred to Chuck as they ran that Casey had mentioned the cops right before his connection had cut off. Being in a public place wouldn't help them if Van Breeda was using the police.

_You're a step behind, Chuck. Get your head into it. _

Out at the street Sarah hesitated a moment. Chuck could tell she was thinking so he kept his mouth shut and scanned for danger. Unfortunately, despite his disguise, danger saw him before he saw it. There were four of them, two on each side of the street, dressed appropriately for Dupont but their special interest in the couple that had just exited the Afterwords Café singled them out. That, and the fact that the Intersect told him they were an SOG team that was supposed to be on task in Pakistan, suggested maybe they weren't out for a morning stroll.

"Two o'clock and three o'clock! They've seen us."

"Shit!" Sarah pushed him towards the opposite side of the street. Her order to run was superfluous. They were headed towards the side entrance to the Dupont Circle Hotel but Sarah grabbed him at the sidewalk, turning sharply towards their pursuers.

"They're flushing us towards a trap but we're not going to let them. You ready to fight?"

"Uh …"

"Then stay behind me."

There was no way he was leaving her side but the memory of what it felt like to be tazed was suddenly extremely present. Sarah charged their pursuers and the four men fanned out without speaking, showing little surprise at Sarah's actions. Behind him, Chuck heard tires squeal and an engine racing down the street. The trap seemed to be coming to them. Sure enough, two of the four special ops goons pulled tasers from under their coats.

"Drop!"

Chuck did just as Sarah rolled into the middle of her attackers, arms flailing. The two with tasers fell to the ground clutching thighs that had sprouted silver knife hilts.

"Go!"

Chuck launched himself at the hole opened between bodies, eager to reach the Circle. He got no more than four steps before a weight crashed into the back of his knees, taking him down hard. Pain shot through his ribs and he fought for breath, struggling to get up. The man tried to shift his weight up towards his waist and Chuck knew he'd be pinned in a moment if he didn't do something quickly. Sucking in a gulp of air he turned violently to throw his attacker. In the same instant pain lanced through his arm, his elbow meeting something hard with a crunch. The weight on his back fell slack and Chuck struggled to free himself. Bizarrely as got himself to his feet he realized a part of him wanted to apologize for accidentally elbowing the guy in the face.

_Jesus, idiot!_ _Pull your head out and find a weapon. _

He searched his attacker's jacket, his hand closing on the handle of something with a rubber grip. A dark blur caught his eye and he swung the object, an eighteen inch-long baton, in that direction. The swing was mistimed and the tip impacted futilely on the inner thigh of another assailant, however the effect was devastating. The man emitted a gurgling scream, the chords in his neck straining, his face like a tomato, then he crumpled to the ground, twitching.

_Stun baton! Sweet. _

Footsteps and motion in his peripheral vision drew his attention. He spun jabbing for another attack but fortunately his aim was off. Sarah stood before him, wide-eyed and panting.

"It's me, Babe. You okay?"

Chuck nodded, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He was about to ask her the same question when she swiped the baton from him and jabbed it into the man on the ground, sending him into another round of convulsions. He had clearly been reaching for something under his jacket and Chuck berated himself for losing concentration. Sarah turned him back to face her.

"We're taking their van. I'm driving."

Chuck followed her, sprinting towards a white delivery van idling in the middle of the street. As he ran he noticed the number of bystanders watching from the café and sidewalk with round eyes and recording cell phones. Then he noticed the litter of unconscious or writhing bodies on the ground. As he had several times before, he realized his fiancé was an amazing and terrible force.

_And now she's going viral. Crap!_

Chuck hopped in the front seat then nearly peed himself as the driver of the fan slumped over into his lap, snoring, a needle protruding from his neck. A moment later Sarah opened the door, yanking him out of the way to get into the driver's seat. No one attempted to stop them as they pulled away.

"They had tranqs on them. That, the van, and how fast they showed up means Van Breeda has a great deal of interest in you."

"Or you."

"Maybe, but only to get to you, Babe. Keep your eyes open. We only need to get to Columbia Heights but everything's turning out to be harder than it should be."

"That's an understatement." He looked down a moment as Sarah's thigh caught his attention. "Hey sweetie, do you know you're bleeding?" There was a gash in her jeans, wet with red blood.

Sarah looked for a second. "Damn it!" She tested her leg on the gas pedal. "It's not bad though. They should have a first aid kit in the back. Hurry!"

The back had been stripped of seats but Sarah was right. A fairly large first aid kit had been secured behind the passenger seat. Apparently one wanted to treat one's abductees after beating them up. Back in the front seat he pulled out a sterile bandage then paused. Without missing a beat Sarah unbuttoned her jeans with one hand, lifted her butt off the seat, and pulled them down far enough to expose the wound. In another context he would have been impressed.

"Whoa, Sweetie, is this even safe?"

"What have we done in the last five minutes that's been even remotely safe?"

"Good point." He went to work taping the bandage to her leg.

"So what was that all about, back there on the phone?"

"God, I still don't even know."

"Just tell me what Ellie told you."

"Right ... um … so Ellie ran into some guy that used to work with Dad … and apparently he helped Ellie and me when we were on our own, including getting me into Stanford. She said something about Mom too. The thing is, I don't remember anything about him, like there's this big hole in my … oh god … you don't think he could just erase himself? Oh god!"

Sarah seemed to ignore his implication. "You asked her to describe him?"

"Yeah, her description fits what we have for Van Breeda."

Sarah went silent, staring at the road. His own mind was busy processing as well, but he didn't like any of the implications of this latest wrinkle and would rather have heard her say something reassuring.

It seemed only a minute or two later when Sarah broke her silence. "Okay, were almost there. Take off the beard and wig, and turn your jacket inside out."

"It's not supposed to be reversible."

"Doesn't matter. Just do it."

He did as ordered and saw her taking out the pins that held her own wig as she drove. She had slowed some and he noticed they were now in a residential area, apartment buildings and row houses rising on all sides. At the end of the block she made a left turn and then another into an alley, stopping the van.

"In case we get separated, we're headed towards 1754, Lamont Street." She pointed in front of her. "End of the alley, then turn right. Go a couple blocks. It's after 17th on your left. Apartment number 2. Here's the other key." She pressed a key into his hand. "Remember, 1754 Lamont, number 2."

"Got it."

They got out of the van and began speed walking through the neighborhood towards the address. He noticed with some relief she wasn't favoring her injured leg.

Then he noticed something else. "Hey, Sarah? Why does it sound like those sirens are getting closer?"

Sarah listened a moment then swore. "Because they are. That was fast. They're looking for the van but as soon as they find it they'll start searching the area. Chuck, we've got to split up, otherwise they might stop us. Just go to the apartment, okay? I'll meet you there. And remember, you're not guilty of anything so don't act like it."

She sprinted across the street and Chuck took one long look before turning away.

_Just keep walking, Chuck … and don't look guilty. Okay, how the hell do you not look guilty?_

He ruminated on this thought as he crossed Mount Pleasant, keeping his eyes focused on the crosswalk in front of him. This became increasingly difficult as he remembered that his jacket was on inside out and noticed the knees of his jeans were torn. In addition he realized he was the only one out walking on the street and wondered if he stood out like a beacon.

The police cruiser sidled up to him with no warning, keeping pace with him at the curb. How he had not heard it he could only ascribe to nerves. Chuck forced himself not to change his pace or turn and look, but then it occurred to him that a not guilty person would at least try to see who was following him. He hoped that was the case, anyway. Summoning his courage he turned towards the car, ducking down to look at the driver through the window. The cop gave him one long look then nodded to him and pulled away from the curb, accelerating.

_Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!_

The car didn't return as he continued down Lamont and a minute later he was standing before 1754.

_She did say 1754, right? God your brain's been useless since the accident. _

He looked at the building, a narrow row house three stories tall. Nothing in its features, nor either of the buildings neighboring it gave him any clue.

_Why couldn't she have mentioned the color? Oh well, screw it. You can't stand out here all day._

He walked up to the front door, inserted the key then breathed a sigh of relief as it turned in the lock. Inside, Chuck had the feeling he was in a seldom used building, the knob to the first floor unit having collected a layer of dust on it's top side. On the second floor he held his breath again as he inserted the key, the door giving no indication that it was number 2. This one had been entered more recently than the one below, lacking the layer of dust. Again the lock turned and Chuck relaxed, feeling safe for the first time since he'd left the hotel that morning.

* * *

_Thank god._

Sarah saw that the small dot of paint on the door's hinge had been broken. He'd gotten inside safely. It hadn't been as easy for her to reach the safe house as she imagined it had been for Chuck. Not long after they'd split up she'd heard a cruiser making it's way down Lamont. It was poor timing as the units she was walking past offered little shelter. Chuck might have been able to pull off not looking like a fugitive but the blood on her leg surely wouldn't go unnoticed.

With no other options, she'd slipped her lock pick set from it's holster on her sleeve and climbed the stairs of a brick row house, calming her nerves and steadying her hands as she went. The pick and tension wrench had slid in smoothly and the pins gave firm feedback so she'd slipped the bolt in seconds. From inside she'd watched as the cruiser passed, not showing any sign of stopping. She had forced herself to count to thirty then exited before she could be caught by a tenant. On the other side of 17th she'd again had to act quickly, diving behind a low wall as more than one cruiser made circuits past her. It had been a long cold wait, her jacket having been left behind. Finally a break in the searching vehicles had allowed her to sprint down the street.

Now on the second floor of 1754 she turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. Unless the police were doing door-to-door searches, she and Chuck would be safe here for a little while. She let herself relax, her mind on the warm blanket and drink of water that were now her priorities. Later she would blame herself for dropping her guard before securing the location, but truly there was nothing she could have done. He was a pro and the needle was in her neck, plunger depressed before she heard even a whisper. Her hand found the last knife in her shoulder holster by reflex but it was too late. The world was swallowed by deep black cotton and she felt no more.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry. I don't seem to know any other way to end a chapter. Anyway, this thing keeps drawing itself out (i.e. I don't know how to edit myself) so there are still two more chapters and an epilogue to come.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: I swear, the end of this story is becoming asymptotic. Yes, the second to last chapter is getting split again so y'all get bonus ROTB. Okay, now a little plugging before the story:

Kate McK is awesome. Really awesome. Aside from super snappyfast betaing of ROTB she's currently in the middle of live readings of a Remastered version of her fantastic story "It's a Wonderful Cover Life", which will eventually result in ALL NEW CHAPTERS! WOOHOO! Check out **ItsAwCoverLife** on Twitter for live read details, or go to her profile here at FF to read the story on your own time (She's up to chapter 3 on the remasters).

Okay, so where were we. Chuck and Sarah had just left the hotel room in DC that they had been holed up in, repairing themselves (mentally) after Sarah had run off. They were headed to do a little surveillance on a staffer for one of the senators that had recently been elected with the help of the imprinting prefix of the intersect technology (presumably one of the politicians that Shaw bought). In the middle of their surveillance Chuck and Sarah find out their location has been compromised when Ellie lends her phone to an old "friend of the family" — actually Bas van Breeda, Stephen Bartowski's old rival who appears to be behind both Shaw and the Ring — and then calls Chuck. Chuck and Sarah are nearly abducted by, presumably, Van Breeda's goons, but escape and head for one of Sarah's safe houses. They end up splitting up to avoid being identified and when Sarah shows up at the safe house a man with a needle is waiting for her. So, here we go:

* * *

It was like someone had taken an Osterizer to her brain, her thoughts pureed into tiny bits and leaving little impression other than of constant, extreme anxiety. Something important had gone wrong but trying to pin down exactly what that might be was as elusive as trying to spear a cherry tomato with a fork. If she could just hold it together for one second, maybe she could set things straight.

A voice broke through the maelstrom.

_Walker, wake up._

It was a nice idea, but at the moment she wasn't even sure what that meant. She didn't even remember going to bed.

_Wake up, damn it!_

It was really insistent, that voice in her head. Was it possible to interrupt one's own thoughts?

Smack!

_Wait, that wasn't a thought, that was …_

Smack!

"Hey, quit." It came out slurred and was obviously ineffectual as she felt another stinging slap.

"Damn it, Carina! Stop!"

As the words came out of her mouth the fog in her head cleared a little and memory returned. There had been sun, sand, bikinis, tanned boys by the truckload, and alcohol … lots of alcohol. That explained the headache and her confusion, and the anxiety was probably because she needed to use the bathroom. What a week it had been. There hadn't been quite the level of debauchery that she'd expected after hearing some of the spring break stories, but Carina had certainly helped her make up for the trouble she'd missed out on through much of college. Oh, and Troy and Vincent — not the sharpest knives in the block, but sweet, and most importantly, hot — had done their part. Carina really was the best.

_Except now she's hitting me. What the hell, Red?_

Sarah opened her eyes and sure enough, those unfairly pretty, almond-shaped blue ones were staring back at her. They rolled dramatically.

"Oh, thank god. You haven't gotten any less boring when you're unconscious. Not very informative either. I've had to sit here for fifteen minutes making up scenarios for why you and that dead guy over there show up in my safe house on the same day that I need it."

_Dead guy? Shit! It's 2010 not 2002, Walker. _She had been trying to get to the safe house for … "Wait a minute. _Your_ safe house? This is _our_ safe house, and what dead guy?" Her anxiety spiked as it all came together. _Oh my god! Chuck!_

She bolted upright but the world was a half second behind in following. Her vision darkened for a moment. When the fog cleared, a dark smear of congealed wetness drew her eyes to the floor by her feet. She followed it to a black pool surrounding a body, propped against the wall at the end of the hall. Tanned, leathery skin and silver hair eased the thumping in her chest. It wasn't Chuck. Then her eyes focused on the syringe in the man's hand and she remembered what had happened.

"Nice work, by the way. Probably didn't have more than ten … fifteen seconds to figure out where he went wrong. Always control Walker's hands, otherwise you'll get leaky."

"Carina, where's Chuck?"

"Your little curly boy toy? How should I know? Did you misplace him?"

"He was supposed to meet me here. Did you check …"

"There's no one else here. Maybe he got lost. Whatever. He's a big boy. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? Some rendition team disappears my boss's boss and three of our people this morning? Then I hear about the same kind of thing happening in other people's shops? Now I come here to find you, unconscious, and Dexter over there, dead? I mean, unexpected guests can be fun — they usually are — but not at _my_ safe house."

"_Our _safe house. Wait, what time is it?"

"Thirteen forty-five ... and you haven't answered my question. I know this isn't all just a big …"

Sarah put her hand up arm out-stretched, cutting her friend off, then closed her eyes trying to get her sluggish brain to work.

_Fifty-two minutes? He should have been able to get here in fifty-two minutes … or maybe he was pinned down. I need a clue … something_.

"Damn it, Walker!"

"What?"

"What the fuck is going on?"

Sarah forced herself to take a deep breath and counted to five. "There's been a nasty infestation of divided loyalty in several agencies. It's been going on for a few years now and today it's getting dealt with."

"Witch-hunt?"

"No, Carina. This is honest-to-god treason. I've seen the heart of it and it's pretty scary stuff. Do you think I would go along with ideology realignment bullshit? The raids have nothing to do with you anyway." She paused a moment, stomach sinking. "You haven't done anything lately that could be considered treasonous, right?"

"Define 'treasonous'."

Sarah closed her eyes, sighing. "More than usual?"

"Of course not. I have a code." Carina's voice registered outraged indignation.

"Is that what you call it? I would have called it a price," It nearly jumped out of Sarah's mouth but she managed to keep it to herself. Instead she said, "You've got nothing to worry about … but _I_ do. I need to find Chuck. Now! I don't care if you want to help or not." Sarah stood up quickly, or at least attempted to, but instead found herself floating down a warm stream into smothering darkness. Some time later, the darkness rolled back and she saw Carina sitting over her with a disappointed look on her face.

"Well damn. I waited too long. I was hoping to slap you again."

Sarah ignored this and attempted to stand, this time managing to stay conscious though she failed to achieve lift off.

"Whoa, speedy. Take it easy. You've probably still got barbiturates in you."

"I can't take it slow! He's …"

"I know, I know. Your Chuckie's gone, but it won't help you to find him if you fall and smack your head. Let me help." She bent down and Sarah threw her arm over her friend's shoulder, standing up slowly. The world wobbled but Carina didn't. "Just like old times, huh?"

Sarah nodded, relieved Carina's other side had decided to show up. "No ID on the dead guy?"

"Nothing."

"Figured." Sarah reached out to turn on the hall light as they headed for the living room, studying the floor intently. They skirted the pool of blood but Sarah stopped them and tipped the dead man's shoe back with her toe, looking at the tread.

She felt Carina nod beside her. "Uh-huh. The hallway's a mess and there's a few of my prints around, but maybe the living room … if Chuck was here … there's enough dust."

Both scanned the floor, Carina maneuvering them around any possible prints.

"There!"

A partial print. The rectangular voids in the dust, alternating at right angles didn't match the zig-zag pattern on the dead guy's shoes. Sarah wracked her brain but couldn't remember the pattern on Chuck's soles, as he'd left the Chuck Taylors behind in L.A. The print could have been his.

"Another one."

This one was a complete print and didn't match the first or the dead guy's.

"That one's too small to be Chuck's." Sarah felt her heart plummet.

Carina summed up the obvious. "Looks like there were more of them here besides dead guy and they're not here now. Hey, maybe Chuck never showed up and they got tired of waiting." There was sympathy in Carina's voice. She lowered Sarah to the futon, the living room's only piece of furniture.

Sarah shook her head. "They have him, Carina. They just left this one … " She nodded towards the hallway. "… to take care of me. Otherwise they'd still be here and I'd be dead. I've got to find Chuck before …" She saw Carina nod, not meeting her eyes. "He's not dead, okay. Don't give me that look. They need him."

"Sarah, I found another syringe on your friend over there. You and I both know it had a high dose of potassium chloride in it."

"I don't doubt it, but that was for me, not Chuck. They don't need me but they do need him."

"Okay, okay. If you're sure then I believe you. So, who do we call? I'm assuming there's a reason you don't have any backup with you."

This was a nice change of pace from Carina, getting right to business without asking for the full details. There would have been no way to explain who wanted Chuck and why without giving too much away.

"Casey _was_ our backup but … damn. You didn't happen to pick up a burner, did you?"

"Didn't have time. Something happen to Johnny Boy?"

"We lost contact … but he's still Casey. He can handle himself. We had a rendezvous point …"

"Let's get moving then. It's obviously not safe here anymore."

Sarah gave herself a moment to test her balance without Carina's help then, feeling a bit more solid, made a quick search of the apartment looking for … she wasn't exactly sure what. Unfortunately, the men that had been there were professionals and had left nothing behind. She gave up and found Carina at the front door, perusing a brandless tablet.

Sarah knew better but asked anyway. "Is that thing registered to you?"

"Please." Carina looked incensed. "And I use the neighbor's WiFi. I was just taking a picture of your assassin there and I thought I'd look to see if we've got any … uh … oh no."

"What?"

As Carina watched the screen her eyes widened then narrowed then turned sad. "Oh, Sarah."

"What? Carina, _what_?"

The redhead sighed and turned the screen around. Sarah saw it right away. Overlaying a news aggregator background was the frozen image of herself, knuckles and leg bloody, the hair of her wig caught by a puff of breeze, standing amid a litter of prone bodies like a vengeful comic book hero. The number of views below the video suggested it had begun to make the rounds.

"Walker, you're internet famous."

* * *

"I think he's coming out of it. His heart rate just picked up."

"No he isn't. Give it a minute and his pulse will drop again. If you go and dose him every time you see a blip on the monitor he'll go into respiratory failure. You want that?"

"No."

"Then relax."

"I still think …"

"What? You think he's gonna up an run off on us? Do you know how many of these I've done?"

"But …"

"Okay, princess, then you sit over there and cover while I get him ready to transfer."

Chuck wasn't sure if this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for but it seemed like the best he was going to get. He was handcuffed and on his back on the floor of a vehicle, and that vehicle had just gotten off the freeway. He'd had to guess the last part by the sound of the road noise and changes in momentum, as the cloth bag over his head prevented him from seeing anything. His captors — it seemed there were two of them plus a driver — assumed he was still drugged, though why he wasn't he could only guess was due to a miscalculation of the dose, poor quality drugs, or some natural resistance to them. Really it could have been all or none of these.

What he did know was what Sarah had taught him: when abducted, never pass up an opportunity to escape because you might only get one. They were going to transfer him and that meant a chance to get free, even if only for a moment. If the 2.0 capability of the Intersect decided to return right then, even better. He knew it wasn't much of a plan.

The van stopped and Chuck felt the vitals monitor being removed from his arm. Then he heard a door slide open. There was a tugging at his wrists.

_What's happening? Damn it, if I could just see …_

As he had the thought the handcuffs come off his left wrist. He needed no other prompting. He shot up violently, meeting a chin with his forehead.

"Motherf —"

His legs underneath him, Chuck uncoiled, leaping for where he guessed the door would be. For one glorious moment he felt himself hurdling towards freedom unable to believe his luck. If he could put enough distance between himself and the three men behind him, Sarah's training might be able to get him out of this. Then his feet failed to meet the ground. Being completely blind he'd mistimed his stride, falling a foot longer than expected. It was enough to send him sprawling and he rolled, ending up flat on his back.

The mask was torn off him and his eyes focused on the pistol pointed at his chest, then the man holding it, and then the other two behind, one laughing at the other who was gingerly probing his mouth.

"Fucker broke my implant!"

The man with the gun snickered. "I told you he was coming out of it."

As he spoke he took his eye off Chuck for an instant. That was a mistake. Chuck twisted out of the line of fire and kicked the man in the crotch. As his captor doubled over in pain, dropping the weapon's sight, Chuck lashed out again sending it flying. He jumped to his feet sprinting in the other direction. He was at one end of a long building and the corner was just steps away. He had a chance. He looked over his shoulder to see the other two running after then slipped out of their sight.

The impact against the wall of meat that had been left there forced an audible "oof" from his lungs. He landed on his back a second time, dazed. A beast of a man hovered over him, staring back stoically. To Chuck's chagrin, he looked completely unfazed by the collision.

"Thank you, Percy. That will do."

The voice came from behind the monster and was strangely familiar to Chuck. He couldn't place it but the Intersect could, and he felt a brain quake begin to build. Then there was a cold prick at his neck and the world began to go distant, but before it winked out he slurred a name into the ground.

"Van Breeda."

* * *

"Ah Christ, Walker. We don't already have enough problems and now you bring _her_ into it? Chuck's as good as dead."

Carina's spine shot ramrod straight against her seat. "Blow it out your ass, Casey. Chuck's still alive and we're going to find him." She surprised herself with her words and the glare she gave the big man in the rearview mirror, but mentioning "dead" and Chuck in the same sentence were certain to get Walker distressed. That was her job, not his. And he certainly hadn't earned her good will rolling up in the van at the rendezvous spot, all grumbling impatience, as if they'd showed up late for an appointment. Apparently run-ins with inquisitive police made him testy.

Casey gave her a sneer in return but then apologized to Sarah. He really was too easy to manipulate and Carina wondered if he knew it. It made him so uninteresting. Now Bryce? There had been a challenge. Even more so when he and Walker had been together. That had been an opportunity that had ended far too abruptly. She snapped out of her pleasant thoughts when she noticed both Walker and Casey staring at her impatiently over their seatbacks. Apparently she'd missed something.

"What?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "When I said I needed to talk to Walker I meant in private."

"It's a van, Casey. There's no room for privacy."

"Exactly." He eyed the door, drumming his fingers on the seat.

"Oh no." She turned to Sarah, incredulous, but she could see from her friend's expression she would get no help there. "You want me to wait out in the cold while you two work out the mess you want _my_ help with? Bite me. You're going to have to _make_ me leave."

In fact, Casey's expression suggested he was hoping for that and he began to get out of his seat. It occurred to Carina that he might have some pent up aggression after having been gagged and handcuffed to a headboard … in nothing but his polka dot boxers … twice … with photographic evidence.

She huffed out her breath. "Fine!" With no sense of urgency she began an exaggerated struggle to crawl to the door at the back of the van. "Don't expect any Christmas cards from me." She turned around in the doorway, hoping to try one last time, but Casey looked ready to throw her out. "God, I hate spies. You have no code of ethics whatsoever." She slammed the door behind her, not waiting for a reply.

Outside, she tugged her jacket up to her chin, shivering and stamping her feet. They were in a residential area north of Lincoln Park but the houses and trees did little to block the wind that was steadily marching down the street. Carina hated the cold like cats hated water, happy her job kept her south of the border for most of the winter months. It reminded her that leaving Malmö, only to return on the odd summer, was the best decision she'd ever made.

At least she didn't have to miss out on Walker and Casey's conversation. She brought out her phone, turning Bluetooth on and pulling up a custom app that had gotten quite a bit of use in the last few years. A moment later, Casey appeared at the back of the van with a grumble and tossed her the modified headset she'd surreptitiously dropped on her way out.

_Damn it! I really fucking hate spies!_

Conversations that were meant to be secret were the best kind to listen to, especially when it potentially involved putting her life on the line. Fortunately she was prepared for this sort of situation. She pulled a finger-length gold cylinder off of her keychain and plugged it in to the mini-USB port on her phone. Aiming the small infrared laser at the front window of the van, she did her best to stop her hands from shaking. The temperature differential outside and inside the van worked against her, as did the angle, the small size of the detector, and the lack of stability in her hands, but the sounds of conversation managed to rise above the static coming from her cell phone's speaker, just enough to make out the occasional word and the tone of the voices.

Sarah sounded desperate, that was obvious, and Casey wasn't helping a bit. It was clear neither had a plan.

_Great. I'm standing out in the cold while you two decide just how much you've pissed in the pudding. Don't you guys have well funded government agencies to back you up?_

One thing Carina appreciated about the DEA, aside from the fact that she didn't get booted from sensitive conversations — she was usually the one doing the booting — was that, if you had a proven track record, they _loved_ sending resources your way.

Her ears perked up when she heard Sarah use the word "intercept", but what followed was unintelligible. Picking up the occasional word was turning out to be more frustrating than enlightening, however, when a third voice joined the conversation — a third very familiar voice — things got a bit more interesting. It sounded like it was coming through the van's speakers since she could hear it bleeding through the windows and guessed that it was a call playing over Bluetooth. Beckman's tone was not a happy one.

"… told me you had done the background and this was a low risk op. What the hell happened? And how did you end up all over the Internet, Walker?"

Carina heard a warble over her phone as first Walker then Casey replied.

"Who thought it was a good idea to let the sister and brother-in-law out in public?"

_Sister and brother-in-law? Interesting. _

Sarah and Casey's voices alternated, rapidly attempting to explain. Still, it wasn't clear to Carina who had made the call on the sister and brother-in-law … whatever that meant.

"I am running the most important operation of this agency's _history_ and you hand me a major clusterfuck of the highest proportions. One that might require me to pull personnel. Why? Because you thought the Woodcombs needed to stretch their legs?"

Carina's eyes widened. It seemed to her that "clusterfuck" was not a word Beckman used on a regular basis. The woman was pissed … more than usual. _At least now I know who's probably running the witch-hunt. And sister and brother-in-law … that must be the Woodcombs. How are they involved? This is so much more fun than the Valdez case. I should spend more time around Walker._

Sarah's voice came over the phone again with something that sounded like a plaintive tone. Carina strained to hear but it was futile, as what it sounded like Sarah was asking for made no sense.

_Walker, what are you doing? You don't beg in front of the bosses, ever. Desperation doesn't sell. You need to make them think you've got something. If I didn't lie to my boss on a regular basis, I'd be out of a job._

Beckman's voice blared out a reply. "No! Agent Pelletier's team is dedicated to Sundown. They're at capacity as it is, parsing intel from the arrests. I'm not interrupting that to send them on a futile fishing expedition. Besides, we already looked for Van Breeda in the network and weren't able to find him. You need to do some work and find some leads."

_Hmmm, more names. One of ours and one of theirs?_

Sarah pressed on, apparently using code names, as again her request made no sense at all to Carina.

The response from the General was nearly a feral bark. "Walker! My niece is not Google. She's not an infinite resource." _Niece? What the hell kind of shop are they running?_ "We _cannot_ let Van Breeda have Bartowski but we don't have the resources for wild goose chases. Do your job. Find something actionable, then you can call me. If that is all then goodbye."

There was silence from the two in the front of the van.

_So … you've got nothing. Well, at least I can get back in the van now._

Just as Carina headed to the back door, Sarah and Casey went back to their conversation, not inviting her inside. Carina rolled her eyes and kicked at a fallen leaf, pretending it was Casey's head. Several minutes later, when she was beginning to give up on ever feeling her extremities again, the door opened. A grunt from Casey apparently meant she was allowed back inside. As she made her way back to her seat she exaggerated the chattering of her teeth, hoping at least Walker would feel guilty.

Instead Carina only saw the backs of the two heads and the van was silent as a crypt. Casey put it in gear and pulled into the street.

"Got all that talking out of your systems now? Nothing left for me?" Carina made her tone gratingly cheery.

Neither responded.

_Well this is no good. Maybe it's time to shake things up. _"Fine. I'll do all the talking. I realize that Au de Casey may be as appealing as week old lutefisk, Walker, but why did you ask the General twice for Febreze?"

The sudden swearing from the front of the van was music to Carina's ears.

* * *

_Damn it, Carina! _

Truly chaos wore a size nothing skirt and heels.

_Could you just not be a pain in my ass for once? _

The fact that she had talked about Fabrice while Carina was listening was bad enough but Sarah had mentioned the Intersect as well. Now she had to find out everything Carina had heard and then …

_Shit! Beckman's going to put this all on me because Carina's my friend. What did I ever do to deserve her? Karma for everything Dad and I stole from all those churches?_ _Oh, screw it all. What does any of it matter? You're gone, Babe. _

Her fingers dug into the seat's upholstery. She had no way to look for Chuck and by the time resources became available it would probably be too late. She did her best to hold still, willing herself not to punch the glove-box, then wondered what was the point.

_I never should have split us up. Oh god, Babe, if they had taken us both, at least I would have been there with you. Oh god, oh god, oh god! I could have done _something.

A shrill panic rose in her mind, the full implication of her failure all too clear. Her mind was still spinning, but all it registered were the things she should have done differently, leaving no options for what she could do now. Chuck had been taken by a man who had managed to stay completely outside the reach of Fabrice's network package on the same day that most of the assets at Sarah's disposal had been tied up.

Despite the other two in the van she might as well have been in the bleakest corner of Siberia, paralyzed. The icy wind in her chest froze her heart, leaving her completely removed from the rest of the world. It was like nothing had changed since that dark time alone in her hotel room. Yeah, maybe she'd felt in control just that morning … but_ he_ had been there with her. Without him she was an ineffectual, whimpering, husk of herself.

_Wait … what the hell? That's complete bullshit. You weren't this much of a mess before you met him. A few bad nights here or there didn't make you a dead inside basket case. _

On the other hand, she hadn't been exactly healthy either. Attempting to remake herself every few years had left her little idea who she really was … but even then, hadn't there been one constant through it all? Wasn't she the one who never folded when things got tough? So what was the deal now?

_You met Chuck, that's what. You wanted to know what it was like to be needed by someone and to need them back … to belong. Well there it is, the flip side of the damn coin. Now you can't be yourself without him._

The last statement sat in her mind, naked of any sentiment, unable to be misinterpreted, and the more she thought about it … completely wrong.

_Fuck that! I am Sarah goddamn Walker! _

The words reverberated in the enclosed space of the van and she froze, peering sideways at her partner, punishing the road with his usual glare. She turned to see Carina absently staring out the window then took a calming breath, thankful she hadn't actually shouted what she was thinking.

_Get your shit together, Walker. You need your center back if you're going to find Chuck alive. You love him for a thousand other reasons but not because he made you who you are. That you did all by yourself. Who's the one who stood up to Greg Thompson in the Monroe Elementary parking lot for stealing your lunch money? Who's the one that lost two cruisers in pursuit in Tupelo a month after learning to drive? Who got Vitaly Borisovich Dudin to drop the names of the real backers of the International Commerce and Credit Bank with little more than a batting of her eyelashes? I did all that. Fifika, Jenny, Elana, Katie, the name doesn't matter. I've been the same person through it all._

_I'm the one who wins._

It was an amazing thing what perspective could do to a person, like a snake shedding old skin and emerging from the husk, shining and deadly. She was an officer in the Central Intelligence Agency, she had an operation to run, and _that_ she knew how to do.

"Casey, can you get me the data from the Traitor's GPS tracker?"

* * *

The breathing was the only thing that told him he was not alone. There were no voices, no movements, none of the small sounds that human beings made while sleeping or awake, just the slow steady whisper of breathing. Even though he felt someone was watching, even though Sarah had taught him to fake being unconscious for as long as possible, he had to see what was making that sound. It was just plain creeping him out.

Opening his didn't make it any better.

"Ohmygod!"

They really didn't like that. Four heads snapped up simultaneously training empty stares on the source of the noise.

"Oh god! Not again."

Chuck attempted to scrabble backwards but found himself wrapped from shoulders to feet in clear plastic. Something at his back held him to the floor. The cell was no more than ten feet to a side with a closed hatch behind the bodies of the grunting, drooling things he'd just awakened. He could only hope they would stay put if he kept quiet. The body of one of the creatures began to follow its head upward like a marionette on strings.

_No, no, no! Come on, think, Chuck. What would Sarah do?_

The absurdity of the question hit him and he began to panic.

"Help! God damn it! Help!"

To his surprise, three of the creatures cowered at the sound of his voice.

"That's right. Stay there, fuckers!"

Their grunts turned to whimpers and they trembled against the wall, however the fourth one began to slide and twitch it's body across the floor, its stare locked on him. Like the others its body had been roughly shaved of all hair, it's pale skin broken and bruised from unknown abuse. Chuck would have felt pity for it if he wasn't so terrified. He struck out with his feet to knock the creature over but his drugged muscles mistimed the kick. Its hands latched onto his feet, pulling itself towards him.

Chuck thrashed, throwing his weight against the creature's body but its hold would not be broken. It crawled its way over him, the empty eyes still horribly fixated on his own, its body rigid like a moving statue. Chuck's skin crawled in revulsion. A clammy hand curled into claws reached for his face, dragging wet fingertips across his cheek, then clamping over his mouth, sealing it off. Its own mouth opened painfully wide, hovering over his face and revealing a nightmare of neglect inside. It began to mimic the muffled shrieks that Chuck was now making, streams of its saliva falling into his nostrils, smothering out his breath. Chuck struggled for air, attempting to rock his head sideways and biting the creature's hand but its grip was like cold iron. Chuck's body began to thrash involuntarily and he knew it was the end. He closed his eyes as the light began to fade and he knew his last vision would be of that contorted face, twisted both with rage and curiosity that it didn't understand.

* * *

A/N: Water wet, fire hot, Nevert writes cliffhangers


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N**: 1) **KateMcK**, continues to be super awesome. She makes my stuff so much less crappy. 2) JXO is supposed to be in the same place as the actual airport in Leesburg but bears no resemblance and is entirely fictional. 3) If you'll remember, last time Chuck was having an unpleasant encounter with an Intersected "zombie" and Sarah, Casey, and Carina were off to find him. And away we go:

* * *

Death was wrapping around him like a shroud, blotting out light, sound and sensation, but somehow a piercing whistle broke through. Maybe it was the sound of his neurons coming apart with the lack of oxygen, his last perception, but instead of fading into nothingness, Chuck saw a pinhole of light open, then widen. It was like unstopping his ears except with his whole body as all sensation returned at once. He came to and found that the smothering pressure had lifted from his mouth and he was gasping for air. The weight of the creature was lifted off him and he felt hands turning him onto his side. He coughed and spat the saliva from his lungs in between gulping deep breaths.

"There, breathe deep, my boy. You're okay now. That's right, deep breaths. My apologies, Charles. That's the first time this one has shown any kind of initiative. Hah, can you believe it? All this planning — so many years of it — and then I allow my workforce to behave so carelessly at the end. They left you in here for their own amusement. It was so much easier to stay focused on these little details when I wasn't the only one running the ship. Ah, well. Soon enough …"

Chuck rolled on his back to see the owner of the voice though he already knew the name.

"Van Breeda."

"Bas, please. You've always known me as Henrik but we should be honest with each other, yes?"

Chuck wanted to say that he only recognized the guy from the old NSA photos he'd been given to memorize, but he knew that wasn't true. There was something vaguely familiar about the mustache, the wavy blonde hair, and the barrel chest hovering above him, but the more he concentrated, the further it slipped from his grasp.

Van Breeda was still talking but Chuck interrupted him. "I've never met you in my life."

"Ah, my apologies. Of course. The suppression is so effective on you, even now. If only so for the rest of the population we could have avoided so much …" He clucked his tongue and sighed. "Well, no matter. What is cannot be changed."

Chuck sensed something odd in the man's deep, subtly accented delivery, but couldn't pinpoint it.

"But as I was saying, I'd like that you thought of me as a friend. Sorry to keep you wrapped such as this but we can't have any unexpected behavior at this point, yes? We must get you ready for your role — your greatest accomplishment … and mine. Charles, you are going to help me save the world."

* * *

"Hah!"

Sarah pounded her fist triumphantly as the numbers began to spool down her screen. She was sitting at the table in Casey's hotel room, eyes trained on a laptop like a predator eying dinner. Her cell chirped and she snatched it up.

"Casey, what'd you find?"

"We found a witness."

"They saw Chuck?"

"Probably. She saw a person on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance outside of 1754 Lamont within our time window."

"Decoy?"

"Doubt it. She's been a long time resident there, and we …"

Sarah cut him off. "You found it … the ambulance?"

"We did …" Casey paused.

_Oh god. _

"… but it was abandoned."

Sarah deflated. She'd heard the "but" from a mile away and, for a moment, thought he was going to say they'd found a body.

Casey continued. "We're looking through traffic cam data now. They had to transfer him to _something_."

"Is the NSA helping us?"

"We haven't called the General yet. Figured it's better to hold off till we have more."

"You're right but how ..."

"Carina's been lying her ass off to her interim boss. Just working him like a mark. He doesn't know which end is up anyway. They brought someone in from outside her department."

"Typical."

"Anyway, he's swinging whatever weight he has and he's been getting her access. Their facial recognition software isn't as good as the NSA's but it's better than nothing ... and it's working off our database now, so ..."

Casey actually sounded impressed which was a bit of a turn around from earlier. Sarah had to admit, she herself had gone from cursing Carina to praising her name, and now she practically wanted to kiss her.

"She has a method. You have to give her that."

Casey grunted.

"Okay, so the team that came after us outside the Afterwords Cafe, they had tranqs. Look for a van or something where they could monitor Chuck's vitals and ..."

"We know what we're doing, Walker. You just focus on your part. You make any headway with the bug?"

"I pulled data from the secondary. I was right. Someone tried to erase it. I just need a little time to cross reference the site codes."

"Do it quick. I'm coming to pick you up in a few minutes. Be ready when I get there." Like his boss, Casey hung up with little warning.

Sarah dropped the phone on the table absentmindedly, already focused on the sporadic text dumps on the laptop screen from the script that was matching the cell site codes with locations. As she watched, one refrain ran through her head, becoming more like a mantra with each repeat.

_Please be okay. Please be okay._

* * *

Chuck felt he could sympathize with a landed tuna. Van Breeda — he refused to think of the man as "Bas" — had winched him up, still wrapped in plastic, onto a wheeled contraption that left him hanging from between his shoulder blades by a harness. He had to admit it was more comfortable then lying on the floor, but he wondered what the protocol might be for asking to use the bathroom. A follow up thought sobered him. Maybe he wouldn't live long enough to find out.

Van Breeda was puttering around his lab, a sprawling low-ceilinged space of tables and carts, lit like the sun by overhead LEDs. The tables were mostly empty of clutter and — Chuck found this particularly disturbing — just long enough to accommodate a person. The carts, on the other hand, were overflowing with equipment of all types, electronic and medical, much of which looked to be homemade. Van Breeda was happily chatting away at Chuck as if he were relating the details of an old boyhood adventure, his tone warm and grandfatherly. This, and his obvious penchant for tinkering, reminded Chuck unsettlingly of his father, and as he listened he finally recognized what it was that he'd noticed about the man's speech earlier. It was like Van Breeda was having a conversation with himself, never expecting or wanting anyone to respond. Chuck read volumes into that.

"And I must thank you for your performance on the Enterprise Dawning … for coming off the ship alive. It was most …"

"You can thank Sarah for that."

"Erm … yes." He seemed doubtful.

"I owe my life to her, period."

"I see. As you wish. But as I was saying, good show. If I had known Shaw would have decided to risk your life like that I would have surplussed him months ago." There was little ambiguity whether he meant fired or killed.

"You've wanted me safe all this time? You could have fooled me."

"Charles …" He seemed offended at the interruption. "… I've done for you more than a father ever would, but you must see how difficult it is to run such a decentralized organization as the Ring — such a silly name, by the way, no? The geometry … so entirely inappropriate. Efrelt always felt there was so much power in names though he never thought about their meaning. But where was I … yes, my unruly network. It would have been lovely to have only used my pets to accomplish these things … these goals, but you've seen the limits to their abilities. I've been forced to use unaltered material and it can be highly unpredictable." Chuck shuddered at the meaning of 'material'. "Nevertheless here you are, my favorite project, safe and sound."

_Neither safe nor entirely sound … and I'm not your damn project. _"Somehow I don't believe all that conflict was by accident. You had Shaw and the Elders working at cross purposes. How could you see that ending in any way other than violence?"

The additive insult of all of the interruptions seemed to be getting under Van Breeda's skin. His face began to redden. "Are you so slow you don't see the plan?" Chuck had, in fact, guessed the plan, but was playing dumb to keep the man talking. "That little confrontation accomplished quite a lot, I think. No matter what happened I would have come out ahead. A committee is useful for organizational purposes when things are stable but when things need to get done quickly they only stand in the way. Fermin, Effrelt, and the others knew how to play the long game but they didn't know when to pull the cord … the trigger. And Daniel … his nose was too far in front of his face. He didn't know where his duty ended and ambition began … and his bizarre understanding of what it was I was trying to accomplish …" Van Breeda shook his head, chuckling.

"So you're _not_ intent on world domination?"

"My boy, you could learn much by keeping your mouth shut and your ears open. This is not one of your comic books. You're very smart, very smart indeed. I'm proud to see you using that potential at last, even for such petty purposes, _but_ … your sense of responsibility is so limited. Look at the mess we live in. Humanity, our _species_, is in doubt. Evolution has created this marvelous ape with such ability and potential, but it's still just an ape. We haul the baggage of deeply ingrained instincts with us wherever we go, honed from millions of years of evolution, but only recently have we lived in a densely packed, developed world. Now those instincts are entirely out of context. You see, the technological evolution has outstripped the biological."

Chuck wondered if the man was aware of the irony that those same instincts he derided were probably what was driving his megalomania. He doubted it. As he listened he realized that, though the problems Van Breeda was identifying might have been real ones, his answer to them was nothing more than ego worship. He kept it to himself, letting the frustrated despot expound. The more he talked the more time Chuck had to figure a way out of his imprisonment. And the man sure seemed to enjoy talking. Chuck imagined he had kept most of the specifics of his plan to himself for years, not trusting them to the pawns he manipulated. The fact that he now felt safe to relate it all in loving detail did not bode well. Chuck's ears perked up as the man seemed to be coming to a conclusion far earlier than he had expected.

"… and thus we will be able to stop shooting the gun at our foot … stop letting our biological history, those anachronistic compulsions, send us into war, starvation, and decay. The technology that was used so efficiently to add to your mind will be used to subtract from others. Now you see?"

_Damn. Why did you have to suddenly get so succinct?_ "So, what makes you think you're the one who knows what's best for the rest of us? How do you know which instincts to cut which to keep? You're only one man, just an ape like the rest of us."

For a second, Chuck thought he'd made a mistake. For one frighteningly intense moment an ancient, visceral hatred flashed across Van Breeda's composed features revealing the beast inside, the one he so wanted to repress in others. It was as if his skin had split open and the true Van Breeda stepped out, bellowing, "I am not a man. I am the Almighty!" Then the mask slipped back in place and a kind smile dimpled his face.

"So defiant, Charles, but you lack the wisdom to keep quiet. _I_ will not be making those choices … what to cut and what to keep, as you say. The goal is mine but I must delegate those details. The job of identifying and removing counterproductive behavior in such a way to allow humanity to realize its potential requires access to an immense databank of information, synthesizing billions of pieces of data simultaneously and updating as conditions change. No, my brain is not capable of that task, even were I to strip it of its duties in helping me navigate my day. This requires a computer of capacity and promise that has never been realized in the history of human invention, in all of humanity for that matter … that is until now … until you. Your brain, my wonderful, brilliant Charles … your brain is a one of a kind work of art. A most perfect genetic aberration, a gift that your father's potential and that of thousands of others could never match. Your mind will be the vessel through which our modern society is born, the savior of our species. Don't be afraid. I'm giving you the greatest honor bestowed on any human, alive, dead, or yet to be."

Van Breeda brought his feverish visage within an inch of Chuck's.

"My son … I will make you a _god_!"

* * *

"I don't understand."

Carina and Sarah were sitting in the back of the van, inspecting their load-out on the way to meet a six-man hostage extraction team near Leesburg Virginia. As Casey drove the redhead poked at Sarah's guilt buttons, playing the card that she was volunteering for this mission and deserved information. The truth was Carina just hated secrets, at least the ones kept from her.

"What don't you understand, Carina?"

"No, don't even play her game, Walker." Sarah caught Casey's glare in the rearview mirror. "I'm not kidding. She's like the devil in a skirt."

Sarah rolled her eyes, not needing any lectures when it came to Carina. The woman was as much intelligence officer as DEA agent but with less discipline then either. Still, she was a friend and, perhaps more importantly, she was likely to be more objective about the evidence since she had no personal ties to Chuck.

Carina let her glare linger on the rearview mirror for a few moments then turned a wheedling smile on Sarah. "I just don't get how reanalyzing tracker data helps you find Van Breeda … that's who we think has Chuck, right?"

Sarah suppressed a sigh and shook her head. "Forget you know that name, for your sake and ours."

"Uh-huh … so if Van Breeda is so important why didn't the data get analyzed right the first time?"

Clearly Carina was taunting her so Sarah ignored it. "It did get analyzed correctly but some of the data had been altered by … an agent of our target." Sarah ignored the disgusted grunt from the driver's seat.

"Shaw?"

"Damn it, Carina!" Sarah was beginning to think it was the refrain to their song. "Is there anything you don't know already?"

"You tell me."

"No thank you. You can forget that name too and any context associated with it. And no … _he _didn't change the data. He never knew about the tracker."

"Hold on. One of Van Breeda's agents changes the data on the tracker and you're telling me they don't even bother to tell Shaw he has one?"

"Forget it. You already know enough. Just assume there's a logical reason."

In fact, all Sarah had was speculation, though General Beckman concurred on most of it. It seemed likely that Van Breeda was at the top of the food chain and that Shaw and the Ring had ended their usefulness to him, maybe had even become liabilities or competition. He'd had no reason to tell Shaw about the tracker, hoping the government would clean up that little problem for him. That meant the disaster on the ship was likely just a happy accident as far as he was concerned. It was a sickening thought for Sarah to consider, that her last several years on the job may have only accomplished the goals of her enemy.

And now, on the day that the Ring was being dismantled, Van Breeda took the initiative to abduct Chuck rather than disappear. It did not suggest a man who was afraid or desperate and it reaffirmed her take on the situation.

She emerged from her thoughts to see Carina looking expectantly at her. "Sorry. What was that again?"

"You're not even listening to me? Where's your head, Blondie? I said, how did you know the data had been compromised and how did you get the correct locations? How do you know we aren't being led to a decoy or a trap?"

"Well, you never really know that for sure, do you?" It was said with a condescending tone and Sarah realized Carina was starting to get to her. She took a long breath and answered the question. "The way they changed the data suggests whoever it was didn't have a lot of time. They were sloppy and left some information behind that contradicts the changes."

Sarah could see that Carina wasn't satisfied but there was no way she was giving up information on CIA technology to a DEA agent, friend or not. The truth was, that while the MCT-130 had a main antenna for receiving GPS signals, it also had a secondary transceiver for cell signals to transmit the target's location if queried. The last five thousand cell site IDs that it connected to were recorded to memory and this could be used to identify the target's location if they were partially shielded from GPS signals. Whoever had altered the GPS data had only bothered to strip the address files from the cell site data, leaving it largely intact.

Carina frowned. "I have to trust you on this, don't I?"

"Yup. I never made you any guarantees. You still in?" Sarah knew the answer but felt a little like pushing Carina's buttons for a change.

"Of course. I said I was in, didn't I?"

"You did." The testiness made Sarah smile inside but it was also nice to hear Carina would be coming along. She could be a nuisance but she was also a good person to have around when things got ugly.

"Okay, so now tell me what you got off the tracker."

"The only discrepancy I found in the tracker's memory was a single flight two months ago, directly from Bob Hope to JXO …"

"Hmmm." Carina nodded. "Busy regional. Not heavily used by the CIA as far as I know. But I didn't think one-six could handle coast to coast flights, and seven-five is commercial only."

Sarah wasn't surprised that a DEA agent would know her regional airports and runway designations. Particularly since JXO had been used for cocaine ferrying flights up from points of entry in Florida up until six years before.

"They finished lengthening one-six last year to support the Gulfstream crowd. Anyway, he landed at 00:47, never left the airport, and then headed back to LA only an hour and a half later. No vehicles arrived at or exited the airport for more than an hour on either side of his visit, unless they went off-roading or figured a way to tunnel under the fence."

"And how do you know that?"

"You're not the only one who can lie their way into pulling security footage."

Carina's lips spread in a devilish smile. Sarah knew Carina loved nothing so much as to seduce her towards the dark side. "So either Shaw met someone who likes to hang out at small airports in the middle of the night or …"

"Or they have their base of operations there … and I told you to forget that name."

Carina ignored this. "Well that's just great. That place is a nightmare, unless they've knocked down the old hanger complex."

"Nope. It's gotten worse. They expanded it … but on top of that, the operator sold some of the land to a developer for a meeting center."

"Inside the airport?"

"You know, fly the parties in and meet in neutral territory."

"So, a drug smuggler's convention center."

"Yeah, pretty much, except it was so obviously a trap for identifying higher up producers and distributors. It almost never got used and then only for legitimate business. And now …"

"Ghost town?"

Sarah nodded. "They haven't booked anyone since January 2008."

"Another large mostly empty building on the property then."

"And worse than that, they built a tunnel underneath one-six from the Center to the pilots lounge and hanger complex, the idea being that "executives" could take their little electric golf carts directly from and back to their planes. Can you imagine how easy it would be to set up an operation there? Someone from the airport would have to know about it but there wouldn't be too many people to pay off. If we had a little more time …"

"I know … bank records … but we don't have time. So you think, with that van the lawyer was driving, heading west towards Leesberg, JXO is the destination? Walker, there's a lot of other quiet, isolated little places nearby that it could have been going to."

"The lawyer" referred to one Denise LeFavre, a staffer for the senator most likely to become the Senate Intelligence Oversight chair after the rigged election in November. Traffic sensing cameras had captured her driving a van leaving the area where the ambulance had been abandoned within a plausible time window for having picked up Chuck. An hour later the same van was recorded traveling west on SR 7 towards Leesburg. The likely connection with Van Breeda through the senator and the direction of travel had been enough to convince Sarah, but Carina was still giving her a hard look. Sarah said nothing, recalling having recently said something about running an operation based on hopes and good intentions.

_How prophetic._

Carina relented, as Sarah knew she would. "So, do we have the plans for any of the buildings?"

Sarah frowned. "Yes, but there's no guarantee that anything matches them now. With the windows blacked out and having remote access through the tunnel, someone could have altered quite a lot of it."

Carina looked contemplative for a moment. "So what you're saying is we're looking to steal back your boyfriend from a monster who may or may not be hidden in a large mess of buildings with underground access, unknown security, unknown force strength, and for which building plans might be completely unreliable? And we've only got nine people to do it with, six of which are likely to tell us to fuck off once they've heard the lack of details?"

Sarah nodded.

Carina smiled like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. "Blondie, you and I always have the most fun together."

* * *

Van Breeda's breath smelled like cheese and anise tea and it made Chuck gag. The fevered expression of ecstasy, only inches from his face, left no doubt that the man was drunk on his own delusions. His pupils were dilated to the edge of his irises. This man had not heard the word "no" in quite some time. Chuck decided to change that.

"Mr. Van Breeda, what if I don't want to be a god. I mean, if you want me to reach my potential, then let me find it on my own."

At first Chuck thought the man hadn't heard him, then he worried he'd poked the bear again, but Van Breeda only stepped away, a look of disdain and disappointment on his features.

"Find it on your own, Mr. Bartowski? You were working at an electronics store installing driver updates till you tripped and fell into your own destiny. And what have you done since you've been made aware of your gift? Put out small fires for the NSA and CIA? Pardon me if I don't put too much faith in your ambitions. Not that it's all your fault. Your parents saddled you with small dreams and a smaller-minded morality."

"The only thing my parents failed at was being there."

"Well, yes. At least in your father's case. What a cockup he turned out to be. He tries to convince everyone that I'm a monster and then the first I show any interest in his family he runs away. He abandons his family." Van Breeda laughed derisively. "And why does he do this? He thinks I come for him? Ha! The Narcissist he was. A good scientist maybe, and his mind had potential, but really … it was never about him. Oh how beautiful to have been there when he finally realized it … far too late of course. He couldn't come back." He made a little hop and pumped his fist. "Oh yes, Charles, he really mopped himself into a corner. Do you know how easy it was to blame so much on him once he wasn't around to defend himself? He would have been on the wanted list for the rest of his life … should have been. That strutting fool, Larkin … _Oh mijn God, wat een kakker__!_ That … asshole destroyed so much. And speaking of the fool, do you know who it was that had you thrown out of …"

"Yeah, it was Bryce. I know that already."

"On your father's orders. He was afraid of what you would become if exposed to the Intersect program. He tried to sabotage your application the moment you sent it off. I'm the only reason you ever got into …"

"My grades got me into Stanford."

"No!" Van Breeda's face burned bright red for a moment then cooled. "Without me your father would have left you _begging_ for community college. Ah Stephen …" He chuckled, shaking his head. "When he found out you had been imprinted with the Intersect, what was the first thing he tried to do? He suppressed it. And all those times when you and your sister where on your own and needed food or a place to stay, do you think it was the kind-hearted Stephen Bartowski who helped you? Never. It was always me! Your father … always sabotaging your lives right and left, just to keep me away, and all I did was help you. You were just children. Who abandons children? I'm the one who wanted the best for you! Me! He only ever wanted you to fail just to get back at me. He was jealous."

Chuck could see the mask slipping aside again, so easy to do since Van Breeda had no need to conceal his true self. The man was a sociopath and exceedingly vain. But the things he was saying about his father … could they have been true? Chuck needed Van Breeda to keep talking so he let his curiosity take over.

"Jealous of you? What do you have that Dad would ever have been jealous of?"

"What a good question and so many possible answers, but which one?" His voice abruptly became quiet, his frenetic movement stilled. He turned a sad smile on Chuck. "Your mother was a beautiful woman. An amazing woman. I have no doubt that it was her that gave you that work of art in your head." He blew out a long sigh. "Such a waste … but, as always, what is is what has to be."

"Waste? What do you know about my mother?"

"What do I know, Charles? I know that her sacrifice was one of my greatest regrets in this entire endeavor."

"Sacrifice? What do you mean, sacrifice?" A prickling cold sensation began to creep up from Chuck's finger tips.

"Yes, yes. You should know this. It is only right." Van Breeda had averted his eyes the moment he'd brought up Chuck's mother but now he held direct eye contact. "Mary was an inquisitive woman. Much like you, though _you_ wouldn't have known it at the time. That inquisitive nature is a dangerous and attractive quality for a man like me. Our friendship was doomed to failure for that reason, I'm sure of it. She asked such probing questions, your mother. She had a passion for knowledge, but like your father, that open-mindedness didn't extend to her children."

It was like watching the prelude to a car wreck but being powerless to stop it. Chuck didn't need to hear what came next but couldn't plug his ears.

"Your father poisoned her against me. That was the start of it. Just one time … just once, Charles. That's all it took. I suggested that I test your imprint retention capacity and with all that toxic fear in her mind she heard me asking to peel back your skull and hook you up to electrodes. Your father ruined everything for you, don't you see?"

_No, he ruined it for _you_._

"And that was it. I was cut off. No access to you … _nul_, zero, zed. Without such an overreaction it never would have happened. I had to send you the device without her permission. It was the only way … through your sister. You were a boy who loved his father's gadgets. The instant you saw it you would know what to do, you'd think of nothing else. But I acted carelessly. Mary found it first and she was going to tell your father … the whole team would find out … I would be cut out completely and the world would remain ignorant about evolution's greatest innovation. The Botticeli — your mind, Charles — would have stayed in the basement forever. She was packing to take you and Ellie away when we found her …"

"She wasn't leaving us …" Chuck felt himself spinning, the world beginning to shift against its axis. He spoke in a barely audible voice. "_You_ … killed her."

"No, my boy, no Idid not. I could not part with her, not then. I could only relieve her mind of your father's influence … but like chemotherapy, the process was truly inefficient. So little remained after."

Chuck's body began to shake, convulsing against his plastic cocoon, rage eating away his vision in great red bites. Then a yawning horror opened in his mind, imploding every memory of his childhood since the moment his mother had left. He'd been so mistaken about her. He'd held so much anger for so long, so deep, but she had never deserved any of it. She had only been trying to save him from this monster.

"I am afraid those I imprinted at first were not destined for longevity. Also, such a waste. She aspirated during a feeding some years ago … I think … yes it was eleven years. She went quickly; there was little I could do. Oh, Charles … now you look devastated. But it has been so long. Does it matter why she's gone? The outcome is the same."

The full speed reversals, from rage to regret to loss, left him weightless, like a charred residue. His mother was gone … forever, but not before Van Breeda had made her into one of his … Chuck couldn't finish the thought. The gate on his emotions slammed closed with violence. It was like one moment standing in rush hour traffic on the 405 and the next in a sound proof room. He wondered distractedly if something similar had happened to Sarah when he'd returned at the memorial.

_No!_

He was not going to be another victim of Van Breeda's sickness. The man was a plague and caused misery wherever he meddled. The only thing to be done was to stop him and Chuck knew that he was the linchpin. Van Breeda was unhinged, vain, and unfamiliar with contradiction. Maybe it would only take a little nudge.

Chuck spoke in a calm, even voice. "No, it changes everything. Now I know that my mother never abandoned us. Like you said, she was an amazing woman: intelligent, fair, empathetic … maybe one of those that made up for the crude, stupid, and violent people in the world … don't you think so?"

"I told you, it was truly a waste."

"And this wonderful shining ideal of a human being, a woman with two children she loved dearly, who she might have raised to be model humans themselves … she was cut down in the prime of her life by a pathetic mistake of nature, one that no one would have missed, who never accomplished anything other than death and failure. Why? Because _it_ — that mistake of nature — couldn't deal with rejection."

He wasn't sure which word had done it but Chuck saw that he'd scored pay dirt. The mask didn't simply slip, it vaporized in the white-hot, roaring fury of an erupting ego.

"It! _It!_ I am not _an_ it, I'm _the_ it! I am the architect, the creator of what humanity will become. I am God, Jesus, Vishnu, and Allah to your _pathetic_ race!" Chuck felt his face coated in spittle. "I'll project my will into every corner of fucking humanity! When I clench my fist …"

"I'm sorry, you're the god? You're barely up to the task of carrying out your plans as it is." Chuck watched carefully to see if his guess was correct. The reddening of Van Breeda's already flushed features spurred him on. "And weren't you the one that needed to delegate to me. Wasn't I the one that was going to become god because you were so … what's the word … inadequate?"

That did it. Van Breeda's bottled rage, previously dissipated in chaotic motion, suddenly exploded into violence. Chuck watched in a detached way as Van Breeda flew at him with a metal cross brace. He saw his death in the man's face and closed his eyes, unable to process the suddenness of his plan's success.

_Huh, how about that. Second time tonight and I still have yet to see my life flash before my eyes._

The anticipation seemed to slow time as the blows refused to fall on his head. Then, when Chuck heard a chuckle he opened his eyes to see Van Breeda smiling, the hand holding the cross brace falling to his side.

"Well done, Charles. Misguided, yes, but very well executed. You are very astute even under pressure. One more asset that must be wasted, but so it is. It is good for me that I do not need your heart and mind as I can see they are lost to me. So much defiance."

_Oh thank god! _As much as he realized his little plan had failed Chuck also felt relief. He wasn't ready to die. And there was still plenty of that incurable optimism inside that somehow he would get out of this and see Sarah again. He wasn't about to let Van Breeda off the hook, however, regardless of the deferral of his emotions.

"You killed my mother and destroyed my family. You've turned people into slobbering horror movie inspirations and all for the childish dream of controlling the world. I mean … what is that? Seriously, grow up, _Bas_." He accented the name with a mocking tone. "And not only that, you admit to it like you think I would forgive you all of it. Like I owe you gratitude? My heart and mind? You are truly delusional. All you'll get from me is my disgust … and pity."

To Chuck's disappointment Van Breeda's manner was suddenly very distracted as he watched a screen at the end of the bench nearest him. "Yes, yes. That's all very fascinating, your devotion to banal human virtues. But you should first see the results of that loyalty."

Van Breeda turned the screen around and Chuck saw a black and white image taken from a low-light camera. There were several people decked out in operations gear, arrayed around a hole in the ground. It took Chuck several moments to realize he recognized a few of them: Sarah, Casey, and …

_Carina? What the hell?_

"I see you know these people. Look at your face, how your eyes light up. Is that hope?" Van Breeda heaved a deep belly laugh. "Ha! You have such faith in them." The laugh nearly doubled him over and tears began to stream from his eyes. "Oh, my." He suddenly seemed positively giddy. "I haven't felt like this in years. It's like you've removed the weight of oceans from my shoulders. Thank you, Charles. Your misplaced optimism is that exact kind of refreshing naiveté one finds in children. So touching and pathetic. At the same time I want to hug them and strangle their life out, watching their sweet faces. I can never decide which. And with you … what shall I do. Shall I finish your misery and begin the imprint or do I let you watch your friends die first?"

"Leave them out of it! Just do the imprint but forget about them."

Van Breeda guffawed again, slapping his hands on the table.

"Oh, I think you've made the case quite clearly, Charles. Watch them die it is."

* * *

**A/N**: Well, he's just an unpleasant sort, isn't he? Yes, I managed to underestimate the amount of words I needed (again) so there's still two more chapters and an epilogue to come.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N**: Yup, I really should have gotten a chapter out earlier but then my son went and got born so that threw me off a little. Kids really are adorable, especially this one, but (and I'm sure this is a shock) quite time consuming.

Anyway, thank you again to **KateMcK** for straightening this mess out. She worked overtime on this one with a super fast turnaround. Awesome lady, that Kate.

So, where were we: Chuck was in Van Breeda's clutches, about to be turned into a living computer while Casey, Sarah, Carina and a six-man team of CIA special operators (Navy Seal types) had arrived at an airport they suspected housed Van Breeda's base of operations, unaware of Van Breeda's plans for them. And off we go ...

* * *

"This what you were looking for?"

Sarah pulled her jacket tighter against the cold and turned away from the quiet taxiways, peering down into the red filtered illumination at the bottom of the runway slash tower electrical vault. It wasn't easy to differentiate the snaking conduits, but Merle, one of the operators Casey had picked up outside of Leesburg, had climbed down into the vault and was pointing to, not one, but four that Sarah couldn't find in any of the plans. As she had suspected, someone had tapped into the generator backed runway circuit to ensure their own uninterruptable power supply.

"Yup, that's exactly what I was looking for."

"You see that there's four of them?"

"Yes."

To his credit, Merle didn't voice his displeasure, simply remaining grim faced, as did Casey. Carina, on the other hand, lacked an internal censor.

"Fuck."

"Thank you, Carina."

"It needed to be said."

In truth, Sarah felt like saying it herself. Yes, they had found the van that had likely been used to transport Chuck, parked between hangers. Yes they had found these conduits, adding more support to her conviction that this was where Van Breeda's facility was located, but there were four. Four conduits suggested a large complex. In other words, this would be much more dangerous than anyone had hoped. And wasn't it always?

She leaned out over the hole again. "Do all four."

Merle nodded. "You want them to go in any order?"

"Simultaneous, if possible."

"Give me five minutes."

Sarah noted the lack of a "sir" but wasn't offended. She was CIA, not military, and besides that, no one used rank in these ops. Still, she didn't miss the lack of instant rapport Merle's team had with her, in contrast to the near immediate connection with Casey. SOG was a boys' club after all.

Rog — or maybe it was Raj — carefully handed down first the tiny shape charges then the remote detonators, and Merle went to work. The rest of the men, Tate, Hap, Pete, and Marsh — "Short for Marsha … because he's so pretty," Pete had drily, and accurately, observed — had melted into the shadows around the hanger complex immediately after they'd arrived, staying clear of the sight lines of security cameras. No sense giving their force strength away to the spying enemy.

Casey, who had said little since exiting the van, gave her a look and walked several steps away from the group. She followed, wondering what the problem was.

"Okay Walker, you blow Van Breeda's power. Then what?"

The way he said it put her back up immediately. _Now_ he had to have reservations? "We find out which lights go out, and then go there. Was I not clear about the plan?"

He grunted his annoyance at her flippancy. "Crystal. But how do you think it's all gonna go down after that?"

"You know as well as I do. Van Breeda puts his defensive plan into action …"

"Which is …"

There was no doubt he was testing her, not looking for clarification. Well, if he was going to be condescending, she could be too. "You know I have no idea. That's why the first team has to move fast and make a lot of noise. Are you not up for this? I'm happy to trade if you want but …"

"Don't do that, Walker." His low grumble held a note of warning. "I volunteered, didn't I? These men did too. Just remember we're not fodder."

All goading left her voice. "I know that. For god's sake, Casey, you know I don't think like that."

"I don't know what you're thinking."

It took all of her restraint, and a long calming breath surveying the empty airport, not to explode. "I know I'm the only one with a loved one at stake, okay. I know they're just following orders. If you think I'm committing us all to a suicide mission just to save my fiancé then tell me now."

"That's not what …" She watched his jaw clench, possibly holding back an outburst. He apparently didn't like to be put on the spot any more than she did. "Chuck's part of my team too, and I will not leave a man behind, and as far as they're concerned …" He glanced towards the hanger complex. "… Chuck is a vital asset, not to be lost. But _you_ need to remember, we have to follow through on this plan, no matter what happens to Chuck. Getting in is only half the problem."

"Of course." She eyed him skeptically now, wondering what he was getting at.

"Damn it! Just remember to be the Walker they forced on me two years ago, not a …"

He broke off but Sarah knew "head case" would've been his next words. She held back a sigh, realizing the mistake she'd made. She had spent two weeks repairing things with Chuck in her room at the Belvedere but had neglected to clear the air with her other partner. At least that would be a much easier task.

"You just try to keep up, Casey, and we'll be fine."

She clapped him on the shoulder then brushed past him, heading toward the hangar complex. She heard him snort once then give a satisfied grunt, his footfalls following after her. As she had guessed, that was all he needed to hear.

* * *

"Not going how you predicted, Bas?"

On the monitor, Chuck had seen one of the commandos — a man he didn't recognize — descend into a hole in the pavement then re-emerge several minutes later and follow the rest of the group off into the shadows between the buildings. It had finally occurred to him that those buildings were hangars and he was likely somewhere near an airport. Shortly after the group melted away, Van Breeda had begun rapidly flipping through camera feeds to follow their progress, but it seemed the team had evaporated. Chuck couldn't help but taunt him now.

Van Breeda responded with an irritated wave of his hand. "It is no matter. There are only two ways in and they'll never make it past either."

"You don't know Sarah." It might have been bravado but there was truth in it too. No one was more capable.

"_I_ don't know Sarah? Interesting. Tell me, Charles, how well do you think _you_ know her? Your flaws can be read like an open book but I would guess she has told you nothing of her own. Are you aware that Director Graham had the DDO enter falsified psychological evaluations into her file? Did you know that the only CIA psychologist ever to have spent any amount of time with her wanted to flag her as an impending burnout? He said that her bosses had nearly run her into the ground? How do you think she's performing now? That crushing guilt that she lost you again — oh yes, I heard about how she fell on you before — how do you think she's dealing with it? Maybe you'll get to watch her lose her mind before she loses her life."

"Actually, I think she'll do just fine. She found you, didn't she?" Chuck watched, expecting another annoyed filibuster from the man but instead Van Breeda snorted and gave an enigmatic smile.

"We will see, won't we?"

* * *

_This is definitely the place. Don't need to cut the lights to see that. _

Team One was nearly invisible in their dark-grey, night raid gear, flattened against the lip of a drainage culvert in the lawn of the conference center's eastern face. Casey watched the display of the spectrum analyzer connected to Tate's high-gain shotgun mic as he scanned the conference center's windows, noting the high frequency peaks.

"Ultrasonic intrusion alarm?"

"Yup."

"No good reason for that at a moth-balled conference center, is there?"

"Nope."

It didn't look like much more than a large version of those community centers one could find in any number of nameless California suburbs, though those rarely had laminated polycarbonate windows that could stop bullets. Casey had no illusions that the mundaneness wore more than skin deep.

He nodded to Merle and a moment later the man hit the detonator switch for the vault explosives. A sharp crack, like large caliber rifle fire, echoed across the field then the security lights around the conference center went dark, as expected. The clock had started.

Merle was already on his feet, sprinting into the darkness towards the east wall by the time Casey had raised his night vision binoculars to his eyes. Then he was racing after with the rest of the team, a tiny invading army. Merle had the breach bladder neatly installed along the frame of one of the windows by the time they reached the wall. It looked like nothing more than an inner tube fused to a large door gasket, but Casey recognized the gasket for a powerful shape charge. He watched Merle set the detonator cap then slide a safe distance away along the wall. The team curled into protective positions as Merle shouted, "Breach!"

The concussion hit Casey's chest like a bass drum, sending him in motion. He pumped his legs four times then vaulted the cleared the felled window a step behind Tate. He swept the north hallway with his gunlight, revealing it to be empty.

"North clear."

"South clear."

Casey turned briefly to see Hap and Raj firing up the concrete saws while Pete lit up their target, then turned back to the corridor as the shrieking of the blades rang out. Speed and noise were called for here rather than stealth.

Seconds later a concrete block fell to the floor with a thump. Casey saw that Raj and Hap had sliced a hole through the concrete shaft and the thin aluminum of a ventilation conduit behind, opening an express elevator straight to the basement. Pete was at the hole first, shouting "Clear." It had only been two minutes and three seconds since the first charges went off and they'd already found their way in. God, it was beautiful.

"Rope."

Casey's order was superfluous as Marsh was already on Tate's shoulders, reaching up through a ceiling panel to tie off a nylon rope around the junction of the sprinkler mainline with the wet riser. Pete nodded to Casey and handed him a leather pad. Casey gripped the rope with the pad, gave two tugs, then threw his feet over the edge of the conduit and dropped like he was born to do. It wasn't quite fast roping out of a Super Stallion into Pech Valley in 2002 but it still felt like the first sex he'd had after a seven-year drought.

He decelerated at the first branching conduit then swung inside and inched towards the first vent. He made it three feet before the supports gave out and he crashed into the room below, feet first.

Just like riding a bike.

Except there was something very wrong about this bike. He had his gun-light sweeping the room before he realized what had set him off. Maybe it had been the stench ... or the ragged breathing. There was lots of that and it certainly wasn't his own. The light swept too fast to make anything out but his instincts told him he'd seen a flash of something that set his flesh to needles. After a moment — far too long in Casey's mind — his discipline reached down to his hands and he slowed the sweeping of the light. It illuminated a crouched, pale figure, nearly causing Casey to empty his clip. He brought the light back to bear and then wished he hadn't.

He'd been to some serious shitholes around the world and born witness to the horrible things people did to each other, but never in his life had he seen a wreck as bad as this. Sure, he'd glimpsed beaten, wasted husks, covered in their own excretions and stripped of every last particle of their humanity, but those had been bodies, not the living. It occurred to him, watching the creature's mouth gape and snap shut like some horrible deep-sea fish, that this didn't even qualify as living. He scanned the rest of the room slowly and saw more of the hunched figures, a little over a dozen in all, each gripping tightly to metal posts fixed into the floor at regular intervals, forming a grizzly zombie orchard. Of course the only exit was on the opposite side of the room.

An impatient query in his earpiece made him jump and he berated himself, shaking off his fear. These pathetic creatures didn't seem to pose an immediate danger, immobilized by some unseen force. He gave the order to proceed then felt his stomach make an escape maneuver as the sound of his voice initiated an unnerving susurration. All fourteen figures were now standing, empty gazes riveted on him.

* * *

It was painfully reminiscent of watching a horror movie: protagonists descending down into the dark basement, completely oblivious to common sense and the warnings of the audience.

_Damn it, Casey, get out of there!_

When the lights had gone out in the lab, Chuck had felt a momentary elation — maybe his friends would outsmart Van Breeda — but then the emergency lighting had come on, revealing the old man, grinning like a demonic frog. All trace of his grandfatherly manner had been shed. Now he held a tablet for Chuck to watch, the screen showing the progress of the team into the bowels of his warren, and no matter how much Chuck tried, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

* * *

"Well …" Fourteen pairs of bloodshot eyes fixated on the sound of Marsh's voice. "… that's just not right." The man certainly had a Seal's gift for understatement.

"This what the blonde meant by a humanitarian element?" Tate bent forward to eye one of the creatures. It stretched towards him in a painful motion, grasping for his collar but its other hand could not free its grip on the post. In frustration its mouth dropped open, loosing an unsteady, keening moan.

Casey grunted in disgust. "Quit messing with it. That sound is seriously going to damage my calm." He heard agreement from Merle and Raj. "These used to be people, normal people. The man we're going to take down destroyed their minds and made them this way. If we don't stop him he'll do the same thing to us and many more. Van Breeda and the hostage are our first priority, not these poor bastards."

Thinking to lead by example, Casey began to wend his way through the outstretched arms, batting away their raking nails and dodging ropes of saliva. He tried not to, but couldn't stop himself from looking at their twisted faces. That was the worst part. There was so much naked hatred and rage, their wasted minds whipped to a fever pitch by obvious beatings and hunger and trapped to their posts by some apparent conditioning. Casey felt ice slide into his middle at the thought that conditioning was the only thing separating him from a shambling, slobbering, bitey group hug. It took an effort but he forced his finger off the trigger. No need to give away their position with gunfire. He quickened his step, heading for the room's only door, having no interest in further testing that discipline.

He probably would have made it too if he hadn't paused to listen when the thrum of a generator motor began vibrating through the walls.

* * *

_Get out, Casey!_

Chuck raged futilely in his plastic cocoon.

"Not looking so confident now, are we, Charles? You didn't think I would be unprepared for an assault, did you? I'm afraid my generators remain fully functional despite the attempt to cut my power. Your friends have failed." Van Breeda performed a little hop, nearly turning it into a jig. "Now watch, my boy. Watch their little minds break in the face of this fully operational Intersect room."

* * *

He saw it in their faces first, the drooling frustration turning to hungry anticipation in the beam of his gunlight. The hairs on his neck and arms stood straight, his instincts recognizing the trap even before the first image flickered on the ceiling. Three more panels lit up, and he spared only a moment to swear at his overconfidence. When the whistle sounded over some unseen loudspeaker and the creatures released their hold on their posts, he saw his own messy end flash before his eyes.

"It's a trap!"

He heard safeties coming off and could feel the panic mounting behind him. He needed to take control.

"No! Close your eyes. The lights on the walls are how he erases your mind. Shut your eyes. Don't look at it, no matter what happens."

A grip like living stone caught Casey's arm, cutting off his orders and pulling him to his knees. He tucked the barrel of his MP-5 into the body of his attacker then hesitated to pull the trigger. If he fired now, it was any guess how the men behind him would react, despite their training.

"They're coming at us! What the fuck are we supposed to do?" It might have been Tate, the hysteria in the voice making it hard to tell.

"Damn it! Close your eyes or you're never leaving this room!"

A shot sounded. Then another. It was only a matter of moments now before their minds succumbed to the imprinting or they began shooting blindly, hitting their own comrades. Casey reached for his knife but more bodies fell on him, crushing him to the ground. His eyes flickered open only a moment but that was all it took. The Intersect had him.

Over the growing din in his head, Casey heard Merle's voice sounding off with command. "Shut your fucking eye holes and hold your fire! That's an order. Use your knives. They're naked, we're not. Work by feel."

Casey could have kissed the man, years of Marine conditioning be damned, but his mind was already slipping from his grasp and he lost the thought. Then a body fell across him, throwing him into suffocating darkness and he knew it was the end.

* * *

_Oh no you don't. Not again. I don't have time for this crap!_

Sarah and Carina had made it about a quarter of the way down the pitch-black tunnel from the pilot's lounge to the convention center when the overhead lighting began to flicker back on, two tracks of it running off into the distance. The tunnel had regained power, and that meant the surveillance cams did too. It was the crawl space above Sherridan's offices all over again. Lately anything that could go wrong, did.

"Carina." She hissed it at the back of her partner's head but the warning was unnecessary. The redhead was already flattening herself against the wall under the nearest camera. Sarah did the same, pounding her fist on the cold concrete. Her lapse of discipline didn't go unnoticed.

"Should I guess you didn't see this coming?"

"What do you think? I barely had time to plan this thing, let alone deal with contingencies."

Carina smiled. "Of course. That's why this is so much fun. So what now? We could make out in front of the cameras … give some bored rent-a-cop a thrill."

Sarah rolled her eyes, probably giving Carina exactly the reaction she wanted. "Just sit still for a second, if you can manage that. I need to think."

In fact, Sarah wondered if that was asking too much, but Carina merely slid down into a sitting position, a bored look on her face.

_A minor miracle. I really could use another._

The security cameras were a problem. They were arrayed at regular intervals along the tunnel, and though whoever had set up the system had been on a budget and left a good deal of space between each one, they had made sure to sweep them in a pattern that was impossible to evade.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, wondering if she'd used up all her good karma getting out of so many other jams. It was the wrong thought to have and she had to ball her fists till her her head cleared.

"I know this is falling on deaf ears but you need to lighten up, blondie."

The woman was like a plague on Sarah's calm center. She glared back but this only spurred Carina on.

"Oh quit with the look. I know, I know. Gotta save the Nerd Wonder … but I just can't see how you get anything done being so uptight all the time."

"It's called focus, Carina."

"Whatever. You never see me getting so bent up when things go sideways. I was on a job in Villa Ahumada …"

Sarah turned her eyes to the ceiling, almost wishing it would come crashing down to end it all. She let herself be mesmerized by the motion of the cameras, their synchronized dance helping her to tune out her best friend.

_Wait a minute …_

She watched the cameras for another few seconds.

"Carina, shut up."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about …"

"No, Carina. Shut up and look! Look at the cameras."

"I'm not gonna shut—oh …"

"Yeah, you see it now? They didn't all reactivate at the same time. They're out of sync. We've got blind spots to work with. I mean, we have to be careful but we can still get through here without being seen."

"So … no floor show for the security guard?"

"Just follow my lead, Red, and don't lag."

Sarah watched the sweep of camera above her and the next one further down the hall, waiting several seconds before sprinting as a blind spot opened up. Knowing Carina would be right behind her she crossed over to the other wall under the next camera before it began to turn back. It was a slow motion game of rhythms, reminding her of a rope-swinging obstacle on one of Chuck's videos games. Watch, wait, jump, hitting the gap only at just the right moment. It was hard enough on its own but their need for speed made it all the more difficult, demanding supreme focus. At least Carina was keeping her mouth shut

"So, what's with you getting married to the nerd?"

_Damnit! _

Why Casey had felt the need to refer to Chuck as her fiancé in front of Carina while they drove to Leesburg, Sarah didn't know. She'd also been mystified that the red-head had passed the revelation off with no more than a sniff, but now she could see the woman had been waiting for exactly the wrong moment to bring it up. Sarah's hand itched for her H&K but she held back, saying nothing and hoping Carina would get the hint. It was a futile wish.

"We made a promise, Walker. Not till we were thirty-five … at the earliest."

"That was a long time ago."

"Seven years was not a long time ago ... and I've still kept my half of the promise."

"What about Karl … Smooshie was it?"

"You know that doesn't count, and besides I arrested him before we could be married. But you … you're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Marriage is a big deal."

"You think Beckman will let this happen?"

"If I get fired or transferred for it, so be it. She can't legally stop us." Sarah had had more than enough of letting others control her fate, though she was more than a little concerned that Beckman could find some clever way to throw a wrench into things.

"Fine, but what the hell am I supposed to do with you getting married?"

"I don't know, buy us a gravy boat?" Sarah heard an annoyed huff behind her and allowed herself the briefest moment to gloat, then sighed. Carina was, no doubt, mourning the fact that the few people she could truly call friends were all moving towards greater stability. It had to be hard. "It's not like I'm dying, you know."

"Might as well be. No more spur of the moment trips to Morocco or Fiji. You'll have to check your schedule just for a dinner out."

"We haven't taken any trips together in over three years."

"Exactly. And it's not gonna get any better with you married."

"You know, there are some benefits to planning a trip in advance."

"Oh please, I'd rather go to another mind-numbing law enforcement convention."

Sarah sighed again, as she noticed that, while she was the one with the fiancé who's life was in peril, Carina had still managed to make everything about her. It never failed, especially when the last thing Sarah needed was a break in concentration. Carina could inspire the oddest mix of supreme annoyance and affection. For a moment Sarah actually understood Chuck's friendship with Morgan.

Carina continued, ignoring Sarah's silence. "You know, we had a lot more fun together before you joined the CIA … at least when I could get you away from Malibu Barbie."

"Hey, Sadie was a good friend. If it wasn't for her I'd still be wearing bangs and dressing like a model in a Sears catalog."

"Oh please, like I ever would have let you come out with me looking like you did in high school."

"Anyway, don't speak poorly of the dead." The loss of Sarah's old roommate had hit her hard and been a bitter wakeup call to Graham's indifference.

"Sorry. You know that I think getting blown up was too good for him ... for Graham."

"Yeah. Maybe it should have been a bit slower and more painful."

"Oh-ho, look at you. I thought we weren't speaking poorly of the dead? You finally tired of being Graham's golden girl?"

"For god's sake, will you just let it go. Graham picked me at the end because he knew I was predictable and could be manipulated. It wasn't a compliment."

"Like I ever cared who Graham …"

"Oh please. You didn't return my calls for a month after. Anyway, don't feel like you got slighted. Do you know who got the credit for everything I did after joining the CIA? It wasn't me." It hadn't taken long for Sarah to realize she'd become a showpiece in the argument over the success or failure of Graham's Army, never getting outright recognition for her hard work or skill. They sure loved the results though. "Besides, it took the DEA a microsecond to pick you up and you've gotten more than enough credit for everything you've done. Your boss loves you."

"My boss just got arrested for treason."

"When did you get so whiney? Look, everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Neither of us was going to stay twenty-something forever. When things change you just find something that makes you happy. That's why I'm getting married."

"That's really deep, Walker. You get that from an inspirational calendar?"

"It's just life, Red." Sarah felt no need to explain how profound she found that sentiment to be. "So … you going to see me get married … be my Maid of Honor?"

"I'm no one's maid."

"Snarky Bitch of Honor then."

"Flatterer. How about we just see if we can save your fiancé before we talk about your wedding?"

With that the banter evaporated in an instant, but Sarah saw, with irritation and grudging admiration, what Carina's distraction had accomplished. They had nearly reached the end of the tunnel yet she didn't feel like a strung out mess. Maybe Carina wasn't as selfish as she seemed.

"Does it bother you that there's only one single-width steel door at the end of this tunnel?"

"Perfect choke point."

"Yes it is. Well, we're here now, I guess. No use having second thoughts."

Carina smiled, perhaps remembering the good old days. "Shall we?" She waited till the last camera's sweep left the door uncovered, then crossed over to it, testing the handle. Apparently feeling it wasn't locked and sensing no danger she took it in her hand "On three?"

"Mmmhmm."

Carina held up one, two, then three fingers and yanked. The door flew outward violently and both rushed inside a moment later, sweeping two hemispheres with their MP-5s. To say that the scene was anticlimactic was an understatement. Concrete walls, about twenty feet apart, rose to support a bare concrete ceiling hung with fluorescent lights. A solid rock wall with another steal door made up the opposite side. The room was completely empty.

"Well that's a letdo—" Carina was cut off as the door opposite her opened and a woman in her mid forties, wearing a bulky, ill-fitting security guard's jacket stepped out. She closed the door behind her and turned to face Sarah and Carina. Everything about her body language spoke submissiveness and anxiety, from her hunched posture and hands in her pockets to her timid expression.

"This area is restricted. You are not authorized to be here. Please go back the way you came."

Sarah turned a bemused half smile toward the woman, her presence seemingly so out of place.

_That's it? _That's_ their security? Why all the cameras then?_

Carina was having none of it. She gave a huff of a chuckle, then, "I don't see a gun or a radio on you so what are you going to do to keep me from having a look behind that door?" She took a few steps toward the middle of the room then paused as the woman stood at her full height, nearly squeaking in protest.

"Please, turn around. You shouldn't be here."

Carina only chuckled and took another step, but Sarah was wary of how the guard still had her hands in her pockets.

"Just go away, please!"

The guard had gone from timid to petrified in a few seconds at Carina's approach. It struck Sarah as odd because though the redheaded menace was a lot to take in, she wasn't actually threatening the woman. Sarah felt the skin of her arms raise into tiny prickles. Something definitely was not right here. This woman was not the kind of person Sarah saw working for a man like ...

"Carina, stop."

The redhead ignored Sarah's request, continuing to stalk the guard. "Relax, lady. Your boss obviously didn't expect an armed intrusion if they sent you out here like this. I know you don't get paid enough to have machine pistols pointed at you so just step aside. There doesn't need to be trouble."

"You don't underst—please! Don't. Oh my god … please!" The woman's lower lip began to quiver and her eyes turned glassy and wet. Sweat now visibly beaded her brow.

Sarah began taking in more details of the guard's appearance: greasy hair in disarray, red rimmed eyes underlined with dark-grey bags, and uniform looking like she'd been thrown into it. This woman was definitely not an employee.

"Jesus, Carina, listen to her. Back away."

To her credit, Carina finally seemed concerned, though fearless as ever, she continued advancing on the woman. "Relax. We're not gonna shoot you, alright? If you're worried about your job we'll get it straightened it out. Seriously, are you okay?" Carina stopped again as the woman began to bawl.

"No, no, no, no! Oh god, oh god!" She began to tremble as Carina neared her. "You don't understrrrrr krozzwk muuuh sssck …" Her speech broke down into a stream of wet, agonized grunts as her body shook with deep spasms. The grunts began to alternate with shrieks as she bit into her lip, tearing it into ribbons. Her limbs convulsed pressing her pocketed fists into her stomach and ribs, her whole body at war with itself.

Carina, always so overconfident, finally blinked, turning to Sarah with an expression of alarm. She took one look back at the gibbering guard then began to quickly retrace her steps. A violent motion behind her caught Sarah's eye sending ice water through her middle.

"Carina! Run!"

The guard's fist had emerged holding what Sarah knew, almost before she saw it, was a bomb trigger. Carina's long legs broke into a loping run, but the distance seemed to stretch out between her and the door. To Sarah her strides were a slow motion torture.

_She's not going to make it!_

Behind Carina the guard seemed to lose the battle with her inner tormenter, her face sagging in defeat. The convulsions halted and her thumb wavered. For the rest of her life Sarah would never erase the image from her mind of the poor, doomed woman, staring helplessly at her thumb as it betrayed her.

"Carina!"

Sarah stretched her hand out to her friend, grabbing Carina's elbow. She heaved her through the doorway, then followed, slamming the steel door behind her. The two fell in a heap, panting for one silent, swollen moment. Then hell erupted into the tunnel, lighting the air on fire.

* * *

It was like waking into a nightmare. Casey was buried in a writhing hoard of screeching bodies, tearing nails, and gaping, fetid mouths. A body had fallen across his vision and severed the Intersect's hold on him but now the Intersect was the least of his problems. He heaved the seething mass with a violent lurch but nothing short of a pry bar would loosen their grip. The tearing of their nails into skin told him his tactical suit was history. The smell of blood — his blood — was suddenly overpowering and he knew he had moments before they opened him up. With a last violent spasm he jerked his arm, freeing his knife hand, lubricated by blood and sweat, and thrust it blindly at the weight upon him.

Hot liquid ran down his wrist. He freed it and plunged again, feeling the hold on him loosen. The butchery gave him focus and he turned his mind to the cold calculation of bloodletting. With his range of motion somewhat improved he began slicing at thighs and necks by feel, sensing that he was in a race to bleed them before they bled him. His blade found one artery after another and the attacks began to weaken. After a few moments he realized he could make out individuals from the chaos and focused his assault. A body and pair of grasping hands fell limp and Casey gave another heave, throwing the tangle off of him.

Eyes pressed closed, he lurched away before they could pull him back for another round, then stumbled in the direction memory told him the door might be. Behind him he heard the sound of violence and pain and knew he needed to get to the exit or the others would have no chance. He'd made it a few steps before a hard grip landed on his shoulder and he turned to slice into the attacker.

"It's Hap! Who're ..."

"It's Casey."

He had the time for one relieved breath before a screechy gibbering approached from behind. Casey dropped to the ground sweeping his leg out blindly, feeling it connect solidly with a spindly knee. He leapt onto the creature, driving its head into the ground several times until it stilled. He was on his feet again seconds later.

"Hap?"

"Right here."

"Put your hand on my shoulder. We're getting out of here."

Casey returned to his stumbling journey across the room, arms outstretched, his body feeling like abused hamburger. He didn't know what would be left of the others but he was damn well not going to give up until he knew they were gone. His hands blundered into a wall sooner than he expected and he cursed thinking he'd gone the wrong way. He slid his hand along the wall to the left and was surprised when they ran across an indentation in the wall and several levers.

_The door and locking mechanism!_

He explored the leavers and two pivoting catches that blocked their movement. He chanced opening his eyes and was relieved to see the door was not lit up, then went to work on the lock. It was a simple mechanism for an able minded person and, he guessed, incomprehensible to a zombie. A perfect design. He had the door open moments later and slipped around the corner shouting, "This is Casey! I'm at the door and it's open. Follow my voice!"

Hap followed and the two stood sentry on either side, shouting to the others. Soon enough, a creature emerged from the room and Casey kicked it to the ground firing a round into its sternum. Then, to his great satisfaction, torn, grey clad figures began to emerge, falling to the ground in exhaustion. Casey counted heads as they exited:

_One … two … zombie_

Hap ventilated its chest in short order.

_Three … zombie_

Two rounds dropped this one.

_Four … five …_

Casey waited another few seconds then realized Hap made six. They'd all exited. Everyone was alive. Casey felt immense relief and pride swelling in his chest, then he staggered as his vision began to darken. He heard the hatch slam behind him then saw Hap's face swim into view.

"You all right? Here, pull up some floor, Casey. You need to get patched."

He started to protest but the words died in his throat when a series of metallic clicks sounded along the hallway in which they stood. All eyes turned to watch six doors open wide unleashing a cacophony of grunting and shrieking.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Tate sounded as exhausted as he was terrified.

It would be several minutes before they gave up attempting to conserve ammo.

* * *

Sooooo, it appears I did it again, didn't I? Sorry. This last bit keeps drawing out. The next chapter has to be the end of the action though. Promise. (you know me well enough by now not to trust me though, right?)


End file.
